


Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were Born

by Maribor_Petrichor



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1940's, Civil Rights Movement, Confession Dial, Darillium, Episode Fix-It: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, Episode: s04e08 Silence in the Library, Episode: s04e09 Forest of the Dead, Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Post-Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Singing Towers, The Angels Take Manhattan, The Library, Vietnam War, Vortex Manipulator, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 271
Words: 308,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maribor_Petrichor/pseuds/Maribor_Petrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1942 Manhattan, Amy contacts Edwin Bracewell & begins a friendship that will last half a century. Through correspondence & journals spanning 50 years she & Rory leave a chronicle of their lives and a legacy for the Doctor to remember them by. Post The Angels Take Manhattan.</p>
<p>                                  Epistolary \ adjective \ epis·to·lary \i-ˈpis-tə-ˌler-ē, ˌe-pi-ˈstȯ-lə-rē\</p>
<p>                                                          contained in or carried on by letters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February 22, 1942

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest. Amelia's Afterword left me rather cold. I don't blame her character because the truth is I found it to be written rather out of character. And while I loved Angels Take Manhattan, I think the whole episode was really, really rushed. They deserved more time and they all deserved better. So, egotist that I am, this is my attempt at a post TATM magnum opus. Not a fix-it fic, per-se. Its not really about fixing it, it's about giving us a glimpse into Amy and Rory's life after the Doctor is no longer in it and allowing them a real, final goodbye.
> 
> Oh and fair warning, because it takes some people off guard: implied history of Amy/Rory/11, though no actual sex scenes, I ship them polyamorous.

                                                                                                                                                                                                              

**DELIRIUM ARCHIVE**

**Exhibit 38,295,686,191**

**Ancient Correspondence including but not limited to: letters, journals, psychic paper, email, voice records, etc.**

**To be retrieved only by: The Doctor**

**Archival: Indefinite/Perpetuity**

**_Tag Reads: Come Along, Doctor_ **

 

To Mr. Edwin Bracewell

From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

22 of February 1942

Dear Paisley,

Remember me? I sure hope so. If I timed this right, this letter should be arriving to that little Scottish village where your family owned the post office a little less than a year after you last saw the Doctor and I. Wow...so much has happened since then. Maybe we should just start off with the basics. I'm married, to the best man in the world. His name is Rory Williams and we've known each other since we were wee bairns in Leadworth. We've settled in Manhattan...in 1942. We arrived here in August of 1938 and have managed to build a life for ourselves.

We're not traveling with the Doctor anymore. In fact, we won't ever be able to see him again. Rory and I were both transported back here and there's no way we can get home.

This is home now. We've been living here for nearly four years and its been hard but we're surviving.

There's a lot of things for which we had a heads up. WWII for instance but then again you're probably not calling it that just yet are you? With the help of our daughter (long story) we've established a history for ourselves. We're officially US citizens now, some story about our respective parents being expats. No one seems troubled by certain inevitable inconsistencies, people don't investigate as thoroughly here as they did in my time. Back in 2023 they could have ferreted all of this out on the internet in about five minutes flat. Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? You don't know what the internet is either. I still keep slipping up like that every now and then. Rory tries to get me to be a bit more careful. I am trying, honestly.

Anyways, I realize this may be a big favor to ask but I was hoping you could help us. We never got to say a proper goodbye to the Doctor. He was our best friend. The best friend anyone ever had and in one moment we got ripped from his life and he from ours. We miss him, terribly. I've enclosed a book which should make our situation a bit more clear, it explains just about everything that lead us to here. My daughter encouraged me to write an Afterword. I struggled with it, knowing it would be the last time I ever got to communicate with the Doctor. Rory and I went through dozens, literally dozens of drafts before settling on the one we thought explained it all. Then when the book was published, they gutted it.

One hundred and ninety-five words.

One hundred and ninety-five words to sum up a thousand lifetimes worth of adventure. One hundred and ninety-five words to describe traveling the universe with the two men I've loved more than anything in creation. One hundred and ninety-five words to say a final goodbye. Rory and I were destroyed.

But then I had an idea.

I thought of you, Mr. Edwin Bracewell, a living bomb who loved life so much and fought so hard that he became a real boy. I thought maybe you could help. I know you can't send the Doctor a message now anymore than I can. But, well not to be indelicate, you just might be the closest thing we have on this planet to an immortal. You might just outlive and outlast us all. If you did, if you do, could you deliver a message to the Doctor for me? The real final message from Rory and I? I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's probably pretty indecent to bring up death in our first correspondence but I thought it might be worth a try.

Sorry if this is rude, Paisley. I still haven't developed much tact and 1940's New York isn't helping matters. So, did you ever find Dorabella? I hope so. No matter what you decide, take care Mr. Edwin P. Bracewell, the man who fought to be human and won.

Yours most affectionately,

Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned this lovely artwork specifically for this story from my favorite Tumblr artist Oddthesungod. It's everything I could have dreamed, I couldn't be happier and I think it perfectly encapsulates the spirit of this story. Please visit their Tumblr at oddthesungod dot tumblr dot com


	2. March 14, 1942

14th of March 1942

Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

Of course I remember you, it's unlikely I'd forget a wonderful young woman who played such an important role in my life. Let me first express my congratulations on your marriage to Mr. Rory Williams. I am certain he is a fine gentleman worthy of such an amazing, brilliant and compassionate young lady. I must admit I assumed you and the Doctor were engaged given the trust he showed in you and the affection in his gaze. However, I realize now that you were just the best of friends. Which brings me to the need to express my condolences on his loss. Our brief interactions together were enough to impress upon me what a great man he is.

In response to your request, my answer is; I would be honored. I should be happy to safeguard your letter to the Doctor. As soon as technology permits I will transcribe your message and continue to do so as each new form of communication becomes available.

I understand your concern, but I have faced my mortality once and I have no fear speaking of it frankly now. I have contacted Prime Minister Churchill who has in turn contacted His Royal Highness King George VI. If anything, these plans for me to end as a museum piece were drawn together so quickly I suspect they might have had a similar end decided for me anyways. In the actuality of my "death", my body is to be collected and immediately taken into the Private Royal Collection with the strict instructions that it may be retrieved by one man and one man only, the Doctor. This country and indeed this planet, I imagine, owe a great debt to the Doctor and to you. This is the least we can do for you and your friend, _our_ dear, dear friend.

On a personal note, to answer your other question I did indeed find Dorabella and she and I are married and well. She has a curious eye and a keen wit and was able to accept my uncommon condition without much difficulty. I am terribly sorry for your predicament Mrs. Pond-Williams, while I am not from the time of which you are familiar, I can scarcely fathom my dismay if I found myself in the 1890's. The adjustments, the disorientation, the loneliness. Please do not hesitate to contact me, in fact, I hope we may become great pen friends. Perhaps when this war ends, Dorabella and I may pay a call to you and your husband.

When the war ends...gracious, it occurs to me you know when that will be!

I hope we win.

Until we speak again.

I remain your devoted friend,

Mr. Edwin P. Bracewell

 


	3. April 3, 1942

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point I had all this math worked out. Even though Amy says she and Rory have been traveling with the Doctor for 10 years their time, not his or Earth time there are still other mentions that tell us it's NOT 2012 in the story. For instance during the Christmas special when he visits them at the end. She says it's been two years since they last saw him. Two years since he "died" and disappeared. That's not Doctor time or Amy and Rory time that's real/Earth time.
> 
> So assuming episode date airings coincide with time in the show, he last saw them in October of 2011 making it December of 2013 at the end of " The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe " because as Amy incredulously says when he shows up at Christmas; "Two years." In the final minisode of "Pond Life" it would have to be August of 2014 and by now Amy has already thrown Rory out of the house. However she says they need their "Raggedy Man" which would imply she's still hoping to work things out. But even assuming she didn't and she started proceedings that day, the average divorce in the UK takes a minimum of 4 to 6 months. 6 months puts us in January or February of 2015. However since the weather seems really very mild we can guess their divorce may have taken a bit longer and estimate it's perhaps March or April of 2015. The Ponds reconcile following "Asylum of the Daleks" At the start of "Dinosaurs on a Spaceship" Amy says it's been 10 months since they last saw each other. At first blush, this would appear to mean we're in January of 2016. But note the fact that Rory states not much further into the episode, "Dad, I'm 31, I don't have a Christmas List." Since Rory and Amy were born in 1989 that makes the year 2020. "The Power of Three" happens over the course of a year and assuming the Doctor disappears and reappears in their lives with a few months gaps in between we're now into 2020-2021. ("A Town Called Mercy" happens within the 7 weeks they spend travelling during TPO3)
> 
> Finally, two points, 1) the newspaper in TATM says it's 2018 and 2) The extra dialogue I include below mentions that Amy is 34. Again, since she and Rory were born in 1989 the year of their departure would be 2023.
> 
> So, when we last saw Amy and Rory the Doctor had taken them **back** to the past of 2018 **not** forward to the future. The other day the BBC released some unused dialogue from "Angels Take Manhattan". (How could they not use this wonderful dialogue!?) This is a snippet of a snippet.
> 
> "AMY: "I'm 34."
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "Didn't ask."
> 
> AMY: "No, but I could hear the sums going on in your head. How old are you these days?"
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "No idea."
> 
> AMY: "Oh, shut up."
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "I don't. I live in a time machine, I don't age – there's nothing to go on."
> 
> AMY: "Excuse me, mister, you've got seven grey hairs."
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "You counted?"
> 
> AMY: "It's a hobby."
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "I try to keep up – Time Lord instinct. It's only polite! Can I have a go?"
> 
> He takes Amy's glasses from her nose, pops them on.
> 
> THE DOCTOR: "Actually, that is much better. Never knew I needed glasses, that's exciting!"
> 
> On Amy just staring at him for a moment – amused but troubled. Is he aging just to be kind?"  
> \---------------------------------------  
> So 1989 + 34 = 2023. That's the year The Angels Take Manhattan happens.
> 
> So, I'm going by the idea that Amy and Rory are 34 in 1938 when they're sent back which puts her time of death around 1992? So Rorys' is in 1987. I think... Anyway, as she writes this she's 38.
> 
> Just to show my work as teachers demand in math class.
> 
> They were born in 1989.  
> 1989 - 50 = 1939 (Oh my God, I just realized my math was wrong, I have them arriving in 1938. Just to give you a bit of perspective I'm not figuring this out until January 16, 2016 after I've been working on this story for 3 years. Ok, no matter. Nothing to do about it now because I refuse to change their arrival story and the New England Hurricane. So, its Epistolary: The 50 years (and a few months) Before We Were Born. No biggie. *dies of embarrassment*.)
> 
> Just to make things simple, let's retcon their age. If they're 34, that means to this world they would have been born in 1905.  
> 1905 + 82 for Rory is 1987  
> 1905 + 87 for Amy is 1992
> 
> By the way, the idea of the Doctor aging for them is so incredibly sweet. Man, he loved them a lot. I am so going to use that in other fanfics.
> 
> I tell you, I'm doing more research for this one story than for my entire Master's thesis... which I should be working on by the way.
> 
> Ok, that's the end of my author's notes...so exhaustive, so annoying...ugh, you guys must hate me.

To Mr. Edwin Bracewell

From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

3rd of April, 1942

Dear Paisley,

In a word; YES! I would love to be pen friends. It's actually fairly lonely around here. You wouldn't believe how many times I have to repeat myself just to be understood. And the bagpipe jokes never stop. My accent survived Leadworth, 19th century Provence and the Asylum of the Daleks, but Manhattan may just kill it. Another loss to throw on the woodpile.

Rory is excited but also a bit nervous as he's starting medical school in the Fall. Of course he's light years beyond what they're teaching but he's got to learn to do things in this decade. Medical knowledge came a long way from 1942 to 2018 and he's worried about adjusting. He's already frustrated about all the people he might lose because there won't be the proper equipment or the proper knowledge. But he can't help needing to help people. That's my Rory, soon to be Doctor Rory Williams.

Melody, (our daughter) falsified some documents for us, as I think I mentioned in our last letter. We're citizens, with birth certificates, social security numbers, college degrees, we have an apartment on 5th Avenue, and a 1938 Cadillac Series 75 Fleetwood Sedan. Car wise, I have no idea what any of that means but it made Rory really, really happy. She even got us stock in Proctor & Gamble. That's our Melody, she spoils us. I wish we could have gotten to spoil her. Someday, I'll tell you about her.

Anyways, we're doing fine, actually, compared to everyone else we're doing much better than fine. We try to do our part by buying war bonds and helping with blood drives and tire drives and scrap drives. I feel quite patriotic!

I was getting bored just sitting around at home. For the first few months I spent most of my time going to see movies. But sitting in a dark theater was no way to spend a life. I tried playing the housewife, but I just wasn't very good at it. In the end I went out and got myself a job. Working as a secretary, again doing my part for the war effort, not sure how but letters do need to be typed I suppose. I kind of imagined myself learning to be a mechanic and putting together bomber engines but not much call for that in Manhattan.

Guess that's all for now. Please stay safe, Bracey. I do know how the war ends, but there are very, very dark days ahead for the world. Do me a favor, stay in Scotland, live, love Dorabella.

Write back soon, my friend.

Yours,

Amelia Pond-Williams

 

 

 


	4. June 2, 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N Not much to put in the way of authors notes other than Bracewell is referring to the Battle of Midway. The surprise attack by the Japanese which actually wasn't so much of a surprise. It started on June 4th and concluded on June 7th of 1942. Code-breakers determined the date and location of the attacks and what followed was a most decisive blow to Imperial Japan and its navy.

2nd of June 1942

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

First let me apologize profusely for the tardiness of this letter. I'm afraid it took a great deal of time for the care package from Dorabella containing your letter, and many other things that make me ache for home, to arrive. I am not at liberty to discuss my precise location or the reason why my hands shake as I write. By the time you read this, I feel something will have been decided in this war one way or another. It seems silly to keep thing from you, my future friend who knows all, but the fear that this innocuous letter may be intercepted keeps me silent. What if I somehow changed the future? is that possible? Can the future change?

In any event, do not worry, I am safe and well. But I am also compelled to do my best for King and country. Much as your husband feels compelled to do his best. I think we, all of us, are doing as the Doctor would like us to do. We are, as the Prime Minister says, buggering on.

I am happy to hear about Rory and I know he will make a fine physician. Your letters are so fascinating to me and always leave me thinking about them and you long after I finish. Imagine traveling back in time and trying to convince doctors before Joseph Lister about the existence of germs!? I cannot imagine the frustration he may be in for but I think it is worth it.

I wish not to burden you, my dear but...we are hearing disturbing stories coming from Germany. Terrible things, atrocities unimaginable. I fear this is what you were hinting at with your mention of "dark days" and I fear what we are hearing is true. God help us all.

On a lighter note, you mustn't lose your accent. Hold firm, even in the face of the brutish American slang! From one Paisley to another, stick with it!

About your daughter, I must admit I am a touch confused. You and Rory cannot possibly be more than your mid to late 20's (I hope you'll pardon me for guessing at a lady's age). How could you have a daughter old enough to engineer all that? I speculate the answer will make me even more confused than I am now, yet I wait eagerly to hear it.

I am glad to hear you are doing so well. I think I am just pleased to hear that somehow there is still something fair in the world, there is something prospering. I am even more pleased that fortune has smiled upon someone for whom I care deeply. The London I knew is no more. The destruction of the Blitz seems so total I cannot even fathom recovery. I wonder at times what world are we fighting for? What will remain when this is all over? Who will we all be?

You, Mrs. Pond-Williams, give me hope. When things are at their darkest I think of you and remember there is indeed a future. A future where bright young women may live and thrive and breathe clean air. A civilized world free of the Nazi menace. You are a beacon in these dark times and I do so look forward to your letters.

All my best to you and your husband. If you don't hear from me for awhile, do not despair. My location will no doubt be changing frequently in the next few weeks and months but your letters will eventually reach me as I hope mine will reach you. Stiff upper lip, lass. And take care of yourself.

I remain, as always your devoted friend. 

-E. Bracewell

    


	5. July 28, 1942

28th of July 1942

Dear Bracey,

Your last letter scared me a bit, not because of what you said. You were right, by the time it reached me the battle was over. It scared me because it had a big sticker on it clearly stating that it was "Opened By Examiner 3212" God, they're reading our mail! It also took a lot longer than normal to reach me by air mail. I hope that won't start being a habit.

Rory is rushing through medical school. They think he's a marvel, best thing since sliced bread. They've already got him seeing patients. Some of the stories he's coming home with you wouldn't believe. People actually think smoking is harmless, not just harmless but healthy. They show up at the hospital, rundown, hacking coughs and they can't figure out why. Then they light up in front of him. That's one of the harder things to get used to, everybody here smokes! Filtered cigarettes are only just now coming into fashion, it's absolutely mad! By the way if you smoke, Bracey, stop! It might not kill  _you_ but it won't do any favors for Dorabella.

We got a new phonograph. My dad had one when I was little and there is something comforting about it. Makes me miss home though. It occurs to me, they'll never know what happened to us. Not my mum and dad or Rory's father. We'll have just vanished. I hope the Doctor goes back and explains it to them or at least makes up a clever lie. Those are the thoughts that keep me up at night sometimes. In fact I'm writing this at 3AM. I don't sleep all that well anymore. Rory needs his rest so I usually just creep out of bed, put on a record really low and sit in the lounge and think. Sometimes I consider doing more writing than just my letters to you. I think about writing about my adventures with the Doctor. All the things we saw and the places we traveled to. But other times I think that might hurt too much. Not to mention who would ever be interested in reading such a thing? These aren't exactly whimsical times, now are they?

Oh, I got a one time modeling job! As a scrap girl, no less. I'm posed on the back of a car above a sign that says; "Please Drive Carefully My Bumpers Are On The Scrap Heap!" it was mad! They just asked me as I was walking out of Macy's. Wonder what would happen if Mum and Dad saw that in an old issue of  _Life_  or  _Look?_  I'm enclosing a copy for you as a laugh, along with a recent picture of Rory and I. These clothes feel a lot less like costume or dress up now. How do I look? The other woman in the picture is our daughter, Melody. We've nicknamed her River so if you hear me refer to her as that you'll know who I mean. Isn't she lovely? I'll have to tell you about her someday. Send me a new photo of you and your wife when you get a chance, I'll frame it and put in on our mantle.

I find myself oddly detached from the news, yet fascinated by it just the same. To me...this is history, long dead history, frozen in photo's of black and white. History that you cram for so you don't fail an important test. On one hand it's like watching a movie that I've seen and halfway paid attention to a million times. I know how it goes, I know the ending, it's all in the past. On the other hand, it's real. Too real. One of the girls I work with, her husband is in North Africa right now, she's terrified for him every day, because this is real life,  _her_  real life. To me, whether he's alive or dead, and I don't know if he is, has already happened, it's a personal fixed point. But not for her. So everyday her neighbor meets her at work with the mail, if there's a letter, she and I go to a little cafe at lunch and I hold her hand as she opens it. She's looks at me with tears in her eyes and says; "It's ok, this time, Amy! He's ok!" And we'll laugh and cry together and she reads me what he's written. I don't know what I'd do if Rory got called over. It could happen, we're Americans. I can't even think about it. I love him so much, I couldn't make it here or anywhere else without him. Not to mention, I don't think we can even leave Manhattan. I think we're stuck here.

Our friends think it's sad that we don't have any family around, they're always inviting us out to dinner or over to play cards and listen to the radio. We have them over to our home a lot too and I've become quite the hostess with the help of the brand new Betty Crocker Cookbook.

So, tell me all about you. You must be working so hard I can scarcely imagine. That's another reason why it means so much when you take the time to write to me. Thank you. Stay safe and stay well, as always. Dorabella would like you back in one piece and so would I. Don't let Churchill work you too hard, he's a slavedriver that one.

You asked and I have no problem answering. Rory and I are 38. No one quite believes that, so I guess we're holding up well!

That's all from this end, write back as soon as you can.

Oh and one more thing, for God Sakes call me Amy.

Yours always,

Amy

P.S. Yes, Paisley. The future can change. Time is written, rewritten and unwritten every moment of every day. I know that all too well.

 


	6. November 15, 1942

15th of November 1942

Dear Amy,

Again, I know it has been months since we last spoke and I apologize for the inexcusable delay. My location was in such a state of flux that I scarcely had time to eat or breathe much less sit and engage in two of my favorite activities, writing to you and Dorabella. My life, which was governed by alert sirens and all clears now seems oddly quiet. I spend a good deal of my time in the lab. Ideas still come to me now and again and I take to my drawing board and sketch out rather dreadful things. Somedays I feel I may never be able to create anything ever again. Everything is tainted by my Ironsides or rather the Daleks. Everything I create can only be an instrument of war and destruction. The only thing I did manage to fashion with a positive bent was a prosthetic arm for myself. I feel very nearly close to being a fully functioning human being again.

The war goes on as it must. I heard a particularly rousing speech from the Prime Minister the other day when I was invited to attend the Lord Mayor's Luncheon at Mansion House in London.

The Prime Minister remarked; "This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning"

He was referring to the war effort of course, but I think it can have a deeper meaning. For myself, for those assembled, perhaps even for you, my dear Amy.

I noted a touch of sadness in your last letter. These are indeed sad times but they shall pass. This shall all come to an end someday. The sun will shine, the clouds will break and we shall all breathe free air. The Prime Minister does have a way with words, I hope his sentiments of hope and resilience echo across the waters from the Empire to America.

Your "scrap girl" picture was delightful. I have forwarded it to Dorabella for safe keeping, along with the picture of you, Rory and Melody. Your husband is a handsome fellow with a keen face and kind eyes. The woman in between you, your daughter, is lovely, like her mother. She has your eyes, I think and that strong will. If I knew Rory better I'm sure I'd see more of him in her as well. As it is, she has a kindness that I see reflected in both of your faces. It's clear you love her very much and she you. I look forward to many stories about her.

Enclosed please find a photograph of Dorabella and I, taken late last summer. She is far, far too good for me and I eagerly anticipate the day I can return home to her.

I confess in my weaker moments I am indeed a smoker. I enjoy a cigarette but especially the occasional cigar every now and then. I shall endeavor to break myself of the habit before returning home to Dorabella, I would not wish to so injure her and I trust your foreknowledge and advice.

The rationing here is beginning to tax even the heartiest of souls. Begun in March, we've been faced with decrease after decrease in coal, electricity, gas and clothing. I anticipate a rather grim Christmas for us all. But hopefully not for you, my dear Amy. I hope yours is filled with laughter, love and light.

Take care, stay safe,

-Always, your devoted friend,

Edwin.

 


	7. December 18, 1942

18 of December 1942

Dear Mr. Bracewell,

This is Rory by the way, Amy's husband. I'm writing on her behalf though she doesn't know it. I know how she so looked forward to corresponding with you and I imagine you might be wondering about her lack of letters as of late.

I'm still not used to mid-20th century propriety yet so forgive me if this is too...descriptive. Memories of 2023 and medical training have left me unable to deal well with euphemisms.

We had a miscarriage.

Against all possible odds we found out we were pregnant sometime in August of this past year. I'm not sure what she's told you, not sure you understand how miraculous that truly was. We were hesitant at first, didn't even tell our friends, tried not to talk about it, even amongst ourselves but we were overjoyed. Adjusting to life here has been...difficult. Amy tries, she tries so hard but I know sometimes, maybe nearly all the time she yearns for home. This would have been such a bright spot in our lives, such a turning point. We so badly wanted a child.

Then a little over two months ago Amy started cramping and before we could even get to hospital...well, it was too late.

God, should I even be telling you this? I don't know. I'm in fog myself. I'm a bit devastated. But it's as if we're grieving separately. She stays in our bedroom, she sleeps most of the day. I'm at work seeing patients. When I get home we eat, mostly in silence, she stays up all night listening to the radio or the phonograph. We're just out of sync. I see her sometimes rereading your letters. She'll have paper and pad laid out in front of her but it's like she can't remember how to do it anymore. She doesn't know how to write back.

It reminds me of when she first arrived. I don't know if she's told you about that so pardon me if I'm repeating things. She was absolutely despondent and in such a deep depression I didn't know if I'd ever reach her. She barely moved, sir. She'd spend all day at the cinema, film after film after film, alone in the dark. I wish I could take her away from here even if it were only for a little while, but it's impossible. We can't even leave this damn city, we can't take a holiday. We are forever stuck in Manhattan.

I've been looking for a psychiatrist, since she won't talk to me I thought she might like to speak to someone else. I'm wary, you understand. I'm wary of everything here. I know too much. I know how backwards everything is, if you'll pardon me. I worry they may do more harm to her than good.

Anyway, I suppose that's all from my end. Amy has spoken of you so often and so fondly I feel as though I know you as well. I wasn't travelling with she and the Doctor when she met you. I wish I had been. I regret being denied the opportunity to make the acquaintance of such a good man. Perhaps we can rectify that in the future.

Take care of yourself.

I hope the next letter you receive is from Amy and not me.

And if you're a praying man, sir, I ask that maybe you spare a kind word or thought for my wife. Neither of us are religious but...

Anyways, Happy Christmas, sir, to you and yours.

Rory.


	8. December 9, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_9th of December 1942_

Dear Doctor,

The psychiatrist Rory has me seeing had at least one good idea. He suggested that I start a journal. When I told him I was rubbish at keeping them he said think of it as a letter. Address it to someone you miss, someone you trust, someone who always listened to you and what you had to say. Someone who you feel would, if they could, listen now.

Who else would I choose but you?

A little over six weeks ago I miscarried on my bathroom floor. It was in the evening, half past 11 or so. I started cramping, it felt a lot like it did when I went into labor with Melody but it was too soon. I shook Rory awake. I pulled back the sheets and saw the blood. There was nothing to do, even if for a second I had entertained that there was, I could tell from the look on Rory's face...

He called an ambulance but so many doctors have been pressed into military service we knew there'd be a wait. All we could do was lay down some towels.

It was, I think, the worst moment of our lives.

When it was done... Rory wrapped... ( **Curators Note** : _THIS TEXT HAS BEEN REDACTED BY MRS. AMELIA POND WILLIAMS_ )

I don't want to talk about that.

After it was over, I think I went into shock. Rory picked me up and put us both into the tub. He ran a bit of water and I sat between his legs, pulled back against his chest and we cried. I've never heard Rory cry like that before. No hard. But silent and broken. He kept telling me he loved me, that we'd be ok and that we'd get through this and that he was so, so sorry. I don't think I was able to answer him.

The ambulance came and they took me to the hospital. They admitted me. Rory never left my side but once they'd cleared me, I wanted to go back home. I didn't want us to have to be there a moment longer. I think they thought his behavior with me was a little strange. He climbed into the hospital bed and he never let me go. I don't think men of this time are as openly affectionate as Rory. I treasure him for that and a million other reasons.

When we got home I told him I wanted to see Melody, desperately. Then, nearly just like that, she was there. It was before I wrote this but I still think it means maybe you're reading, maybe you sent her. If so, thank you.

I was sleeping when she arrived but I awoke to hear Rory murmuring softly in the other room. I heard my name. I heard the word blood. Then I heard Rory start to sob and Melody's voice;

Oh, Rory, I'm so sorry, I had no idea.

You didn't know why?

He told me to come, so I came. I'm so sorry, Rory.

Dad. Please, call me Dad. Now more than ever. If that vortex manipulator of yours isn't safe you shouldn't risk it. We couldn't bear-

Shhhh, Dad, where's Mum?

In the bedroom, she wanted to see you, we both did.

Come with me.

So they came. My daughter and my husband. They both climbed into bed with me and we wrapped our arms around Melody. I don't know how long we stayed like that. It felt nice to be a family, if only for a moment. Once I could find my voice, I spoke to her softly.

When you were born, I told you, you would be very, very brave. I told you I loved you. And I told you your father was coming to save us. And every word of that was true.

I know, Mum, I know.

I held you and I nursed you. And your dad held you and he cried. And the Doctor held you and talked to you and you talked to him because he speaks baby, or so he claimed.

She didn't stay long. Though I suppose nothing would have been long enough. I think perhaps, Doctor, I wasn't meant to have children. Or perhaps I was meant to have them but they're not meant to stay. Two of them now, slipped through my fingers.

Keep my baby safe, Doctor. Look after Melody. Let her look after you.

P.S.

Our second child was a girl, too.

We didn't give her a name.

We love you, Doctor.

Love, Amy


	9. December 12, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

It's 2:17 AM and I hate you.

This is the journal entry where I beg you to come back for us. The entry where I say, to hell with New York. The entry where I tell you take a train or a bus or a car to see us and think, think, think about how to break us out of here. This where I tell you to please don't think of us as a noble loss, as having stoically accepted our fate. We haven't, we want to come home. There's nothing I want more than to be in my bed, with Rory on the TARDIS or safe and sound in Leadworth or London. I want this nightmare to stop and you can stop it. You're in a time machine, every moment is now. Every single moment. Time can be rewritten and don't you tell me it can't.

How could you leave us like this? How could you just give up? You told me you burned up a sun to say goodbye to one of your other friends. Aren't Rory and I worth that? Can't you smash a wall, muck up a timeline, destroy a sun or two for us? Don't you love us?

I promise I'll be a good girl. I promise I won't get into any trouble. I promise I won't grow old. I promise I'll keep pace. I don't like endings either.

Please Raggedy Man.

Please.

Love,

Amy

_(Postscript)_

I don't hate you.


	10. December 13th, 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel as though I should give a passing explanation as to why there aren't any quotation marks and precious little punctuation to speak of in general. I'm in a Cormac McCarthy phase in my writing right now. He once said he saw no reason "to clutter up a page with little meaningless dots." and I'm inclined to agree. So I'm going for a weird, pompous ass kind of minimalist thing. I think the message still gets across without quote marks and I want this to feel like real correspondence/journaling while I still cheat and include conversations.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

You would be proud of me. I've managed not to bite this psychiatrist even though he's positively begging for it. Rory thinks it's coming to some good but I disagree. I'm tired of talking about what happened, I'm talked out. Talking never fixes anything. Talking and remembering never raised the dead.

Well...except that one time.

I think that maybe if I could see it clearly, winter in Manhattan might be beautiful, but I can only see the muck and the dirt and the fear in everyone's eyes. We're still over 2 and 1/2 years away from the end of the war, though Rory and I are the only ones who know it. I haven't revealed anything to Edwin by the way. See, I still follow your rules. I still try and preserve these bloody timelines for all the good it does.

Rory will most likely be a doctor for all intents and purposes by mid 1943 if not sooner. How do you like that? Both my boys, doctors.

I miss him. He works hard, long hours and when he comes home we're like strangers. I hate myself for what I think sometimes. Why isn't he as upset as I am? Why is he ok? Didn't she matter as much to him. That's horrible, I'm an awful. awful person but still...I just can't have him touch me without wanting to crawl out of my skin. I hope he never reads this. But, it's like we've forgotten how to be Amy and Rory. Like I said, I miss him.

I'm sorry for what I wrote yesterday. I'm frustrated and angry and lonely and sad. I could never hate you.

Can you hear my voice when you read my letters? If you are reading them that is. Maybe Melody showing up was just coincidence, maybe these letters just end up in the void.

Maybe this is just me talking to myself.

But I like to imagine you, standing there at the console, tall and handsome, wearing  _my_  glasses as you read my terrible handwriting. Or maybe Edwin transcribed everything. I think perhaps I'll ask him not to, I don't want to just be a print-out to you. I want you to know when you touch this paper that I touched it too.

I'm not the only one who's angry. I've caught Rory, quite recently just staring off into the distance, his brow furrowed. We have a spectacular view of Central Park and sometimes he just gazes out as he drinks his coffee. I wonder what he's thinking but I'm afraid to ask. I don't like being afraid to talk to my husband. He probably feels the same way about me. But I can feel his frustration, it's palpable.

I quit my job. I know, what else is new? Amy the screw up. So when I'm not in bed I just put on my coat and wander about the city. I stopped in a shop and picked up a few Christmas presents and even got a little notebook for Rory. Maybe he should write his feelings down too. What if that turned out to be the only way we could communicate anymore, trading journals? A bit like you and Melody, except with an undercurrent of seething animosity. Hahaha.

You don't think he'd leave me, do you?

Why shouldn't he? God, Doctor, did he really wait 2000 years for this?

Love,

Amy


	11. December 15, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Christmas Card Addressed To Mr. and Mrs Edwin Bracewell.**

15 of December 1942

  
Dear Edwin and Dorabella,

I'm sorry for not having written sooner. I've been a bit under the weather lately but it's nothing serious. I shudder to think how I made you worry. I expect things are well with you two and I look forward to more of your letters. I hope against hope that you and she may spend a quiet and Happy Christmas together.

Things here are wonderful. Rory and I are fantastic as we frantically get ready for the 25th. We've got the house all decked out with a big ridiculous tree and decorations. We've got a lot of presents and toys to drop off at the Salvation Army.

I'm so looking forward to Christmas and the New Year!

Happy Christmas, my friend!

Love,  
Amy


	12. December 25, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

25th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

I lied to Edwin.. I told him everything was fine because I didn't know what else to say. It seems I can't talk to anyone but you. I'm not sure what that means.

Happy Christmas, Doctor.

The last Christmas we all three spent together was one of the best of my life. You, showing up at our door, out of the blue, literally. You really didn't think we'd set a place for you? We set a place for you everyday.

I  _still_ set a place for you.

We never talked about what happened afterward. After dinner, dishes, dessert, after we begged you to stay, just for a while. Were you embarrassed? Did you regret it? Do you think about it, ever? The three of us, making love under the fairy lights strung through the railings of the headboard in our bedroom. Murmuring declarations of affection and love amidst soft whispers of "Happy Christmas". You snuggled with us and I fell asleep with your arms around me, nestled against your chest, and Rory's arms around you. Your heart beats lulled me to sleep.

You kissed us both goodbye the next morning. You lingered in the doorway and we begged you to stay again, hoping you would, knowing you wouldn't.

It's Christmas night. I'm going to try and fight the insomnia once I finish this entry and sleep alongside Rory. We had a nice day. I made a turkey, we ate quietly and opened presents. Rory got me a puppy, silly Chocolate Lab. He gave it to me only after a string of caveats like; "This isn't to replace..." and "I just thought you might like..."

I do like him but we haven't picked out a name yet.

Rory and I took him for a walk under the stars tonight. It was quiet and lovely, crunching through the snow, looking at the Christmas lights. Rory tried to get me to look up at the stars but I can't anymore. It's too painful. You gave me the stars but they're gone for me now. For me the night sky is all black.

We came home and all three of us warmed ourselves by the fireplace. I kissed Rory. He's kissed me everyday of course but this may be one of the first times in a long time I've kissed him back.

I want things to be ok.

He does too.

Goodnight Doctor,

Happy Christmas.

We love you beyond anything.

Love Amy and Rory.


	13. December 31-January 1st 1942-1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

31st of December 1942/ 1st of January 1943

Dear Doctor,

I'm so scared. I fear I might have run Rory off.

Everything started off so nicely. I told him I wanted to spend a quiet New Years Eve at home. I wanted to leave 1942 behind us and everything bad that had come with it. When he got home I made sure I was wearing his favorite dress. I fixed dinner, dessert, I put on our favorite record. We danced in the living room. I even laughed. I don't know how long it's been since I've laughed. I let him take me to bed. I let him undress me and a part of me wanted him. I truly did. But the rest of me started to feel sick. I said "Stop." really quietly at first. He didn't even hear me. Then I practically shrieked it and he pulled back so suddenly, looking as though he didn't quite recognize my face.

Amy...? he ventured. That was all. He just said my name. Amy. But I was suddenly filled with so much rage and hurt and anger that I slapped him. Even now I don't really understand why.

I screamed at him; You don't even care! And when his face started to break I wanted to take it all back.

For the first time ever, he yelled back at me. I lost her too, Amy! It wasn't just you, I lost them both, right along with you!

And he's right of course. I know he's right now and I knew he was right then but I couldn't say anything. He just stared at me, so wounded. Then he said; You won't look at me. You won't talk to me. You won't let me make love to you! You won't let me share this with you. We can't even _grieve_ together!

And then he said it, the words that had been sitting between us for almost five years. Sometimes I think you regret coming back with me.

But it's not true. _You_ know that, you were there. I made my choice, I chose Rory and I always always will. He's my life, Doctor. I made my choice. I think I'd die without him.

I think I'd die.

He left after that. He dressed and put on his shoes and coat and hat and left without another word.

What if he doesn't come back?

I think I might be losing my mind.

**4AM New Years Day**

He came back. Drunk, stumbling in and smelling vaguely of gin and vomit. He never could hold his liquor very well. He fell in the kitchen and I helped him up and put him to bed.

There was lipstick on his neck.

Happy New Year, Doctor.

Love,

Amy


	14. January 8, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Arthur Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of January 1943

Amy gifted me this notebook for Christmas. Leather Bound, gold edged pages. It's the kind of book that looks like it's for a far more important life than mine but perhaps she was on the right track when she encouraged me to write down my thoughts. I kept a journal once, it only seemed prudent when I realized I had 2000 years of history ahead of me to live through but after awhile, you realize it's not the time, it's the hours with which you fill them. There weren't hours to fill without Amy. There still aren't.

Which is not to say I don't keep myself busy. I did then, I do now. I think I may break some sort of record for the time it's taking me to finish medical school. But it isn't easy. It's hard to hold my tongue sometimes. Day after day I see children ravaged by polio. I tend to people I have to put in iron lungs except I can't since because of the war there's a terrible shortage. Polio used to only exist in a book, to me it was a vanquished foe in black and white photography or that, at best, only festered in third world countries. There was an devastating outbreak in Brooklyn, less than 30 years ago and it returns with a vengeance somewhere in the country nearly every summer and autumn. We're 14 years away from a widely availabe polio vaccine. The epidemics of these coming years will be swift and brutal and my heart sinks when I think of it.

I'm always the most eager to see these patients though, to help as best I can. Polio is still not fully understood and since I was, of course, immunized as a child there's no fear of my getting infected. They need a kind hand, a smile, someone who isn't afraid of them and I do my best to provide that.

Typhoid is rampant, mostly due to conditions so unsanitary they make my skin crawl and have me fearing for my patients every second. In this time scientists are still mulling over the role infection plays in burns. Sometimes I feel as though I'm living in the Dark Ages. Of course, I really did live through the Dark Ages...

I suppose that's one of the reasons why this has been, at times, easier for me than Amy. I've seen the cycles of this planet, I watched the ebb and flow of war and peace, illness and health, brilliance and ignorance. It will circle and circle and circle. What had happened once will happen again and all we need do is hold on. I had hoped she and I would hold onto each other.

I lived through the Plague of Athens, Antoinine, and Justinian, the Black Plague of the 14th century, smallpox, cholera, influenza, typhus, measles, tuberculosis, leprosy, malaria and yellow fever. I have seen death. I have smelled it. I have wallowed in it and had my supper next to it. I have helped people from the jaws of it and held their hands as they eased into it. I've become a one man triage center because I can tell whether or not you will live or die by your scent, your complexion, your speech, your eyes. I don't even think I fear it anymore. I only fear losing Amy. There used to be only one thing to lose Amy to, death, some sort of fatal accident while running round with the Doctor. Now, there's this melancholy and what I sometimes fear may be madness.

This is my second time living through World War II. I didn't fight the first time. My only concern was for protecting the Pandorica. I shouldered it out of London during the Blitz. So strange to think that while I was here in Manhattan, in some dead, un-cataloged universe in 1941, I'm also there, moving her away from the bombing. This time, if they call me to fight I'd have no choice but to go. And while I'm in a strange way less concerned about this body than the other one I still need to protect Amy. How can I leave her here alone? And I still assume we can't ever leave Manhattan, at least that's what I took the Doctor to mean. I hope we never have to find out. I hope it won't come to that.

She thinks I cheated on her on New Years Eve. We talked about it, she said she believed me but the suspicion is still there in her eyes. I didn't. I went to a local pub and got drunk and a rather amorous and similarly inebriated woman grabbed me and kissed me at midnight. The only person I've been with other than Amy was the Doctor and that involved all three of us. Twenty two years I've been faithful to her and if you count my auton life we could measure it by centuries.

I needed to get drunk that night, when she pushed away from me like that, when she accused me of not caring...I didn't know what else to do. I say this as though it's resolved now. It isn't. We're still not back to normal, we're still not where we should be.

I worry we're still drifting apart.

Or rather she's drifting from me, all I can do is follow.


	15. February 22, 1853

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of February 1853

Dear Mum,

As a veteran time traveller, I have to imagine you barely blink at the idea of getting a letter from your daughter posted 1853 and it's one of the many things I love about you.

I'm not really supposed to be doing this. In fact, if the Doctor knew, I imagine he'd be furious, but the truth is the Doctor doesn't know everything and he doesn't  _need_  to know everything. 

He misses you both by the way. He and I spend our moments together when time and tide permit. He has a new traveling companion now. Her name is Clara and she has a kind heart, I think she'll keep him in line. So you see, your afterword didn't fall on deaf ears. He isn't alone. She's not a replacement. The Doctor never replaces us, he understands life is too precious and too unique for that. He just moves forward because there's nowhere else to go.

But this letter isn't about the Doctor. It's about you.

The Doctor has an innumerable amount of rules and I have far, far less. I'm much more willing to do what has to be done even if it risks timelines because I won't have the people I love be miserable. Mum, you and Dad are miserable right now. Nevermind how I know, that isn't important.

I pushed you and Dad together once before and if I have to do it again, so be it. Do you know how many tires I had to slash, how many boys I had to threaten, how many dates _I_  had to turn down just to make the way clear for the two of you to finally see each other for what you were? Half the fights I got into at school in some way involved you lot. But that's ok, that's what I wanted. The two of you belong together and not just because it was necessary to maintain the timeline, complete the paradox and create me, but because you truly love each other.

Mum, my sister is gone. I can't imagine how hard that is to read, to know, to understand, but it's true. And no good can come of you slowly drifting away after her.

You've had to shoulder so much hurt and loss in so few years, more than anyone should. I hope to someday possess the same strength and grace you've shown. I hope someday I can do you proud.

You know, just as I do, the high price of running with the Doctor. You've paid it in full and then some. It can be worth it, but it can damn near destroy. The Doctor's love is destructive, it's not his fault, he doesn't mean it to be. But it is.

I've lived a long time, mum. Not as long as Dad or the Doctor, but I've learned a few things. I've lost a great deal and I've learned to let a great deal go. I've let the Doctor go time and time again and I even had to say goodbye to the two of you. So I hope you don't mind your first born giving you some advice, because here it is.

Go to that little flower shop two blocks from your flat, you know the one and buy a bouquet of cherry blossoms. Cherry blossoms are only with us for a short while. The blossoms open, they reach full bloom within a week and a week later they're gone. The wind or a storm or time, simply having carried them away. But they were here and they deserve to be remembered and the world was sweeter for their having existed.

Go to Central Park, just you and Dad. Hold hands and walk to the center of Bow Bridge. Put your arms around each other and look down into the water, both of you.

Name her.

Toss in the flowers... and let her go.

Then I want you to remember that stupid party at Bernard Cribby's house. The one I dragged you both to. I told you it would take some of the sting out of thinking dad was gay and might work as a good first date. I think my exact words were; "Christ Amy, you don't have to snog him... _yet_... just dance with the boy!...snog him later!"

I want you to remember how you promised me that I got to choose one song that night and how I bet you I could get Rory to dance. You looked at me like I was barmy when I put on the Macarena, so did everyone else at the party. But Dad started dancing didn't he? In that awkward, sweet way that only Dad can...well, maybe I know one other person who's an awkwardly sweet mover. And then you started dancing, and you were each laughing and smiling and you both moved closer and closer together until by the end of the song there was nothing left to do but kiss.

It was brilliant. It's not every daughter who gets to witness her parents first kiss.

Remember, you promised to give him your days as he promised you his. And you have so many wonderful days ahead of you. It won't all be this dark. I swear to you. But Dad is going to need you soon, maybe more than ever before.

Remember Mum, remember how much you loved him then and how much you love him now. Remember how you gave up your entire life in the future, your life with the Doctor...and me, because life means nothing without Rory Williams. Remember. And once you remember let him take you in his arms and kiss you like he did that first time.

Now, this bit won't make sense now, but it will soon;

_Separately, but never together. Together or not at all. You two are the pair-adox._

Just remember it, that's all.

The Doctor sends his love to you across the stars, every star, from their inception to their death. He loves you both, almost as much as I do. I'll dry his tears, you and Dad dry one another's. That's marriage and marriage is a very, very good thing.

I've enclosed another letter. But you have to promise me something, Mum; you cannot open it until 1965. I know, I'm testing the bounds of your curiosity with a 22 year wait but what can I say?

Spoilers.

Love yourself.

Love Dad.

Love,

Melody


	16. April 11, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11 of April 1943

Dear Doctor,

I think maybe I'm on the mend.

I haven't written in a while because I haven't had that much time. I've been a bit busy. I've been out, dare I say, trying to live a bit.

About a month ago I went up to the hospital to see Rory. I think I scared him, though I didn't mean to. He rushed over to me, took my hands and asked what was wrong. I said; Nothing, I just wanted to see him and ask if maybe he was free for the afternoon. I wore my best wool dress and my last pair of nylons. I curled my hair, made myself up and even wore my little hat with cherries on it that he liked so much. It was the first time in a long time either of us had seen me look quite so...alive. He seemed surprised, maybe even a little skeptical when I took his hand and squeezed it. I told him to take his time with his patients, I would wait here for him. He looked at me curiously, started to walk away and then doubled back. He kissed me sweetly on the cheek saying; You look lovely. I'll be back as soon as I can.

I read quietly, I've started  _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Expurey, trying to drown out the noises of the hospital. Then I felt guilty. Rory can't drown it out. He lives with it everyday. I waited quietly, nervously, my emotions flaring between tears and stoicism. I was so lost in my own head I didn't even notice him appear at my side; coat on hat in hand, softly calling my name.

You look so handsome. I told him. I don't think I've told you that since we got here, but you look so handsome in these clothes. I put my gloved hand to his cheek and he smiled tentatively.

Are you alright? he asked me.

Yes. Fancy a walk, husband?

He smiled in agreement and we set off in the direction of home. We didin't talk much, both of us seemed content to just enjoy the presence of the other. I remembered that's how it was when we first started dating. We could spend an afternoon just up in my room in comfortable silence. From the beginning, Rory and I were beyond words.

He didn't question me when we passed the flat and I appreciated that. He was just going to let this happen and that made me think things would go easier. We turned a corner and a strong chilly breeze surprised us both. He pulled me protectively against him and then he stopped us and rubbed my arms to warm them.

He tsked tsked as he cinched my coat tighter, straightening my scarf.

You'll catch your death. He chuckled and I smiled at my Centurion.

Your nose is pink. I said with a laugh and tweaked it lightly.

I saw some of the light return to his eyes. There were little wrinkles at the corners when he smiled. We were both growing older, so close to forty, nearly halfway done, I suppose. But we were growing older together and that was the way I wanted it.

I approached the flower shop, we stepped in and I asked the man at the counter if he had any cherry blossoms. I was devastated when he told me they were out of season but; How about some wonderful roses. Surely my young man would be willing to spring for a dozen. I pressed my lips together as I felt myself tearing up.

You like roses, don't you, Amy?

But then, Doctor, there was a voice from the back room. A woman called out that; a strange lady brought in some cherry blossoms just this morning. Said she couldn't use them, she kept one for herself, said that was all she needed and we should keep them for someone else. I tried to offer her something for them but she refused. Take them with my blessing.

Five minutes later Rory and I were leaving, flowers in hand, and I found myself clinging tighter to his arm and at times resting my head on his shoulder.

I asked him; Rory, can we go to the park?

Of course. A walk about the park would be nice.I didn't know you liked cherry blossoms. How did I not know that?

I kissed his cheek rather than answer but as we approached the park I started to explain the gist of Melody's letter. He nodded silently and after awhile I heard him sniffle. When he did speak his voice was soft and hoarse.

I think that's a lovely idea, he told me.

So we did as Melody suggested. We found the Bow bridge and we walked to the middle and stopped. The water was rushing past below us, thick with frost and slush. Rory cleared his throat a few times in an unsuccessful effort not to cry. i didn't bother.

I asked him what we should name her.

Against our better judgement, we had comprised a list of names in those early months. I had to name Melody alone and I'd been so happy he was with me this time.

But none of those early names we'd chosen seemed appropriate now. We listed off a few, huddled closed to each other, staring at the water.

What about Adora? He whispered to me. It means, cherished, beloved, adored.

The moment he said it, I knew it was perfect. I nodded fiercely. We peered down and I heard him take a ragged breath. How did I question that he cared, that he was suffering to?

I'm sorry for doubting you. I whispered. And for all the ugly things I said and for not being there for you the way you were here for me.

I know, Amy. I forgave you the moment you said it.

I held the flowers in front of us and Rory cleared his throat again before kissing my cheek.

We're not forgetting her. We'll never pretend she didn't exist. Our baby's name was Adora. He said quietly.

Her name was Adora. I repeated.

Putting his hand over mine, we did a silent count to three and tossed the flowers in. We watched the blossoms get swallowed by the current and rush away.

Rory and I hugged for a long time and I whispered I love you to him over and over and over again, trying to make up for all the times I hadn't said it in the past months.

We walked back home and Rory lit the fireplace and we sat in front of it, drinking hot chocolate and petting the new, excitable puppy. I told him about my journal and how I write it to you. He told me about his. We talked about work and housebreaking the puppy and even what we'll do after the war. What are the 50's going to be like? Good grief what are the  _60's_ going to be like?! He's lived through it once but not in the States. Whatever happens, we'd face it together.

Faces warm, drinks finished and puppy sleeping, I kissed him on the lips and asked if we could go to bed now. He didn't mistake my meaning and soon he was carrying me to our room. He was so gentle, Doctor, so sweet. You remember. We made love in a way that I don't think we have since we arrived. There just wasn't time, life just picked us up and carried us away. This may be the first night we just stopped worrying and running and lamenting and just loved each other.

I fell asleep in his arms. Yeah, I fell  _asleep_ , at  _night_! I'm writing this in the morning, the puppy and I are about to walk Rory to work. It's become a bit of a habit.

I think we might be on the mend, Doctor, at least I hope so.

I love you and miss you,

Amy


	17. April 13, 1943

Dear Bracey,

It's me, your long lost mate! How are you doing my friend? I've missed you and thought of you often. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I was a bit blue for awhile. I don't really want to get into why but I don't believe I would have come out of it had it not been for Rory and Melody. I think I may have the best husband alive. Though I'm sure Dorabella might disagree.

Spring is here, to paraphrase the Doctor, we're finally out of the dark. Rory finished his internship and yesterday he graduated. My Rory. Doctor Rory Williams. I threw him a surprise party with a few of our friends and a cake with a little candy sign on it that said "The Doctor Is In". I've enclosed a few pictures. Oh and that silly little creature with icing on his face is our new puppy, his name is Spartacus. That was Rory's idea and I really like it.

We've been talking about what to do now. He'll probably stay on staff at the hospital until the war ends then maybe open up a private practice and a free clinic. I told him he might want to think of brushing up on obstetrics, there's a hell of a baby boom coming. Lot's of excitable soldiers returning to lots of eager brides. Oops, hope I didn't scandalize you, Paisley!

I've decided maybe I should try my hand at writing...I used to write travel articles in my old life. I have so many ideas, so many tales to tell about my time with the Doctor. I know what I said, why would anybody be interested in stories of whimsy right now. But I think I've changed my mind. Maybe it would be good for people. Maybe it would be good for me, even if no one ever reads them. It will at least keep me busy while I look for a new job.

I've become a bit of a shutterbug. Rory bought me a camera when we first got here and he got me a new one for Christmas, a great, clunky, clumsy, wonderful ancient, brand new thing. I love it! Over the past five years I've filled up six photo albums! I wish I had some of the pictures from before. Pictures of us and the Doctor, my mum and dad, Rory's dad, Melody. We actually have our mobile phones here. Ok, you have no idea what that is...um, it's a small, portable version of a telephone, very, very popular where we came from, almost a necessity. Anyways even the cheapest versions had cameras and sometimes we still snap a few images on that and look at the ones we have saved. Rory shoved my charger in my pocket before we left the TARDIS the last time because I have a habit of letting the battery drain. But I'm so glad he did. Yes, we actually charge our futuristic devices, partly because we have a lot of memories on there and partly because I think we both hope, someday, the Doctor might call.

Anyways, Paisley, life is going well. Very well. I have a lot of hope for the future. All of our futures.

Write back,

I miss you my friend.

Love,

Amy


	18. May 28, 1943

28th of May 1943

My Dear Amy,

We seem to be having the greatest difficulty re-establishing our correspondence and I fear this time it may be my fault. I have sent you no less than 3 letters over the past month and a half and all of them have been returned. The noose of national security tightens, I understand, but my last letter to you was returned to me because, I believe, I made mention of the weather.

In the coming weeks I will be- REDACTED.

Hooray for Doctor Williams! Please pass on my congratulations as well as Dorabella's. I imagine you must be positively bursting with pride. The party looked as though it were lovely and I wish I could have been there to share a piece of cake with you. I had a final lunch with the Prime Minister Tuesday last, before my departure and I took a moment away from serious discussion to show him the picture. I told him in brief detail of how you came to be in our time. He remembered you fondly and along with his most sincere congratulations he asked me to include this bottle of 1923 Scotch as well as his favorite Brandy which he imbibes daily. He believes it fortifies both the body and the mind and as on occasion I have sampled it I can attest to it's quality. When I asked him why Scotch  _and_ Brandy he replied; "If the young man is married to the incorrigible Miss Pond, he'll need both." I hope you don't take offense, I can assure you he meant it in only the most affectionate manner. He also directed me to add a few of his favorite cigars and then of course he pressed me to press you for information. Ha ha ha. He didn't forget about you however and also in this care package please find several pairs of silk stockings, a few packs of cigarettes, Swiss chocolates bars (I hope they haven't melted!) and a sizeable amount of chewing gum. "War rarities for a rare girl." he said. For my part, I saw the most charming doctor's satchel in a store window and couldn't quite resist purchasing it as a gift for Rory, from Dorabella and I. May he use it in good health.

I am so sorry to hear you were "blue" my dear and am much gratified that you're in better spirits. I admire your spirit, my dear. Hold fast to it and should it falter, draw strength from your husband, he loves you so.

REDACTED  
REDACTED  
REDACTED  
REDACTED

Now, I'm afraid I must go. As I wrote I'm not certain when I'll be settled so it may take awhile for me to obtain clearance to write to you. But perhaps, should things go well or at the very least according to plan we may be able to see one another face to face!

Take care of yourself my dear,

You devoted friend,  
"Bracey"


	19. June 9, 1943

9th of June 1943

Dear Bracey,

I was wondering what had happened and I have to say now I'm even more confused. It looks as though you wrote me at least two pages but they're all blackened out. I remember when I was little, seeing the old propaganda sign; "Loose Lips Sink Ships" and not really understanding what lips had to do with boats. From what I can gather you're planning a trip, perhaps somewhere near Rory and I? Are you coming to the States? That would be so exciting. I'll never quite get accustomed to the idea of our mail being scoured.

Rory wants me to thank you and Winston for the booze. I'm not sure either of us have ever had anything so posh, we'll drink it sparingly and think of you both. He also wants to pass on his thanks for the satchel. It's lovely and he can't wait to use it. As for the gum, I'm chewing it as I write and Rory and I have been fighting over the chocolate, it's wonderful!

I'm going a bit stir crazy. I'm not accustomed to sitting around so much. There's only so much dusting you can do everyday you know? I've been writing a few of my memories down about the Doctor. But everyday when I walk the streets of Manhattan I see and hear other stories that make me want to put him aside for a moment.

There are so many tales from this time that go untold. Maybe I'm the person to help them get out there. What I do know Bracey is that words, written words persist. They last. And we're all just stories in the end.

I suppose I won't expect to hear from you for awhile. Should I send the letters somewhere else? For now I'll just continue to send them care of Dorabella.

Stay safe and well and write as soon as you can.

Love,

Amy

P.S. Rory wanted to add something. He said he'd slip it in when he took it to post.

Dear Mr. Bracewell,

Rory here. First off, thank you so much for the graduation gifts. I can't quite get my mind around the fact that I'm having a drink courtesy of Prime Minister Churchill. Secondly, thank you for not mentioning to Amy my letter to you December last. She and I went through an unnerving rough patch but we've come out of it stronger than ever.

She tells me you may be visiting the States soon. We have room and room to spare, my friend. Please consider coming to stay with us.

Until next time,

Rory


	20. June 15, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of June, 1943

So, I decided to celebrate my graduation from med school in the most unique way I could think of; I got a snip. Yeah, Amy and I talked about it for awhile, actually I'm the one who brought it up. I can't put her through the trauma of another miscarriage. I won't. I don't think either of us could handle that kind of disappointment and upset again so we figured the best thing to do was for me to get a vasectomy. They're a bit disturbingly new in terms of procedures in 1943 but here I sit in bed, knackers encased in ice and feeling relatively fine. I figured I should take the downtime to get back to my journal, I rather missed it.

Amy is walking Spartacus at the moment. I watched her from the window as she and the dog went splashing through puddles. He took off at a run and she had to go dashing behind him, red hair whipping after her like a sail. I dreamt of that hair for 2000 years. Sometimes I worry this is a dream, but on days like today I can just look down at my balls and realize even my subconscious isn't that masochistic.

Two millennia guarding her in a box and the worst time in my life was when we started divorce proceedings.

I've been thinking about that a lot, most likely because of Adora. Those terrible months, moving back home with my dad. Not being able to tell him what was going on, not really  _knowing_  what was going on. All I knew was that we had been fighting, every bloody day. Everything I did seemed to set her off and soon it was likewise. I started picking up extra hours at work and so did she, we rarely saw each other, the sex topped long before, then  _any_ sort of affection was off the table. She kicked me out of bed at one point and somehow I just never returned. I started sleeping on the sofa in the lounge, vegetating to late night telly and infomercials about the worlds sharpest knives. Sometimes I would feel like she was behind me, watching, but when I'd sit up there was no one there.

The final straw came on a rather unremarkable Sunday. I was filling out some forms, insurance, sending in our payments for the next six months. She asked what I was doing, I told her and she scoffed.

Bit ambitious, don't you think?

How do you mean? I'd asked.

You really think we'll be together in six months?

Damn it, Amy, why would you say that?

It's the truth.

Do you not want this to work, is that it? Because if that's the case, just fucking say it!

She'd looked at me, square in the eyes and said slowly; I don't want this to work.

I launched up from my chair, grabbed my jacket and stormed out of the house. We didn't speak gain for two weeks.

As I was leaving, I thought I'd heard her sob, but arse that I was, I didn't turn back.

_"Because we both know, we've always known, that. Amy, the basic fact of our relationship is that I love you more than you love me."_

Why did I say that? I know why I said it, just to hurt her. I knew it wasn't true. Even if I didn't understand why she wanted a divorce, somehow I knew it wasn't because she didn't love me. She had her chance to escape, numerous times and she could have run with the Doctor forever. I know she loves me but I know she loves him too. And I know something she doesn't know, I know he loves her. Not in the way that he loves all the people he travels with. He loves her. He confessed it to me late one night in the kitchen on the TARDIS. I couldn't sleep, he rarely slept and I was teaching him how to make s'mores. He said something, God knows what, it doesn't even matter and I just stared at him. It wasn't what he said it was how he said it.

You're in love with her. 

He straightened his bowtie, looked away and said;

Is it that much trouble to call them Some-Mores? It's not  _really_  extra work, though I suppose that only invites the question of "some more  _what_?" Which could turn into a very long and drawn out conversation about the makeup of graham crackers.

You're in love with her. I repeated.

She's your wife.

That's not an answer.

He turned to me, his eyes dark and sad.

You didn't ask me a question. And I don't think you want to. She's your wife. You're her husband. I am her madcap, alien, imaginary slash best friend. Those are our titles. I am content in that. Your marshmallow is burning.

You act like you're this asexual, man-child, like you never crave companionship. You cover your eyes when she and I kiss. You try to act all nervous and flaily when anything slightly human arises. I used to believe it, but now I know it's an act. Do you think we've just forgotten about Christmas, mate?

I watched him gulp and then pretend to be hard at work on scraping a piece of dried chocolate from the countertop.

No, he said. And  _I_ haven't forgotten about Christmas. But haven't I complicated your lives enough without presumptuously assuming a place in your bed? Wrecking your marriage?

You assume you'd wreck it?

He smiled to himself bitterly.

I have before. Even wrecked my own...

I wasn't used to him speaking so candidly.

You're right, Rory, it is a bit of an act. But you have to admit it might take some of the shine off if you saw the notches on my bedpost, the wedding rings left on my nightstand.

I think you're lying. Mind you, I don't think it's intentional but you move between extremes. One minute you're upstanding God-Doctor the next you're a dangerous, adulterous sex fiend. I don't think so. I think the truth is somewhere in between. There's good and bad. Pardon me, but I think it's all a bit more human than that.

Human? Are we insulting one another now?

You know what I mean. You're talking about complications but things were complicated before we had sex, Doctor. They just got  _more_ complicated.

Another long stretch of silence.

I don't regret it. he said. He tentatively reached out and touched my hand. Though I was a bit shocked that you and I...that  _we_ -. he trailed off. Shocked but happy. He concluded after a moment.

You'd be surprised how fluid sexuality starts to seem after 2000 years. So, you wanted to then? To stay with her?

He'd quirked an eyebrow, bemused that I didn't understand.

Oh, Rory. I have two hearts, you know. That's one for each of you.

He walked towards where I sat then leaned over and kissed me. It was slow and sensual and I felt myself giving in to him the way I had on Christmas. Then standing back he ran his thumb over the corner of my my lips.

You had a spot of chocolate there. Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll take care of it in the morning, love.

And he started to walk away.

Doctor. I called after him.

He stopped and glanced back.

I don't regret it either. I said. None of it.

He smiled at me, softly, nodded and then disappeared.

So, that was how I discovered the Doctor loved my wife...and me as well.

What a mess we'd made. And now we'd never have the opportunity to clean it up. He and I had gone from competitors, to adversaries, to friends, to lovers and back to friends again. I suppose we all loved each other.

When the Angel sent me back, the first thing I noticed was that it was nighttime. One moment I was standing in the bright sunlight in a graveyard, the next I was in near pitch black somewhere around 59th street in Manhattan. It took me a few minutes to realize it wasn't actually nighttime, it was just that the sky was filled with clouds, dark ominous clouds like I hadn't seen in years. The wind was howling, nearly knocking me off my feet. The rain poured down from above me and in a second I was drenched. People hurried past, all of them looking as alarmed as I felt. I took refuge in the nearest building which happened to be a movie theater. I slumped in a corner, surrounded by the smell of popcorn and frightened voices as the enormity of the situation overtook me. I was back, in 1938, alone, again. We hadn't escaped the paradox, we hadn't beaten the Angels and now I had gone and left Amy alone. I put my hands over my face and didn't really worry about how I looked, strange man in incongruous clothes with curious hair weeping in a movie theater. It didn't matter after a moment anyway as the power went out and we were all plunged into darkness. I stayed there the night, I don't think I spoke to a soul and at first light I set out. The streets were flooded and a few police officers told me to get to higher ground but I didn't care. I don't think I'd ever felt that level of despair, not since I'd shot her all those years ago. I was wandering, walking, not caring and then I saw it. That flash of red hair, sailing, whipping around like welcoming flames. I cried out; AMY! and she turned. She spotted me and rushed towards me and then she was in my arms. She'd come back for me, she said. She'd landed in the storm, she couldn't see, couldn't hear, someone had grabbed her and pulled her into a restaurant to wait it out. But once the worst was over she set out on foot, she said she didn't know why, she just needed to get out. I hugged her so tight I thought I might break her.

You came back for me. I said.

I'll always come back for you. She responded. No matter how far they might have taken you back, I'd come looking for you and I'd find you. You won't get rid of me Rory Williams. You'll never shake me and I'll never let you go, not ever, ever again.

Amy and I survived my deaths and hers and a 2000 year separation, a brief affair with an alien and then the 1938 storm that came to be known as The Yankee Clipper the worst hurricane the Northeastern Atlantic Coast had seen since 1635.

I dreamt of her flaming hair. I dream of her flaming hair. It sustains me, it burns me. Amy and I are beyond time, we can survive anything. That's not arrogance. That's not me daring the gods to reign down the thunder. I simply think of it as fact.

We can survive anything, when don't we?


	21. July 18, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of July, 1943

Dear Doctor,

I was never very good at budgeting and I find myself to be total rubbish at rationing.

As I mentioned earlier to save on petrol Rory walks to work and Spartacus and I join him. I usually take the car to our local board for a required tire inspection every few months. Before you can get your gas ration you have to prove that you need a car and that you don't have anymore than 5 tires. They gave us an"A" sticker for the windshield which means we get four gallons of petrol a week. Would you believe there's actually a war time speed limit? They recommend you drive at 56 KM per hour or as they say here "Drive Under 35 (mph) it's the Victory Speed". You can imagine we use the car pretty sparingly.

I've gotten hooked on Kraft macaroni and cheese in all its powdery cheesy goodness all over again. I can get two boxes with only one stamp and sometimes Rory and I just have a bowl of that. For all the things we've lost some things like that are remarkably the same. Mac & cheese and a cold Coke can make for a pretty good evening. I picked up a copy of the American Woman's Cook Book which has a lot of helpful advice in dealing with the inevitable shortages. A lot of the recipes are a bit naff, but you make do.

I do a lot of babysitting for the women in the neighborhood, We've got the space and I have the time and I love kids. I thought it might be hard at first and sometimes it is, sometimes I feel that pang, but it's ok. It wasn't meant to be and I am a very, very lucky woman. Rory and I will just be the cool Aunt and Uncle of the neighborhood. Of course I do it for free, all I ask in return is, if they're willing, that the women tell me their stories. So many of them are young brides or single mothers, some of them their men are overseas, some of them are struggling to take care of wounded soldiers who've returned home. I offer them money here and there when they'll take it, you have to be so careful about wounding peoples pride, but Rory and I don't need it. River saw to it with her investments for us and the bank accounts, that combined with Rory's paycheque and we'll be comfortable for all the years ahead. Sometimes the ladies are more willing to take it from me, along with a pie or some extra ration coupons. Sometimes it's easier to take it from Rory. He'll hold their hands and with that warm voice and those kind eyes he slips the bills into their palms. He soothes them, tells them it's not charity, it's what friends do for each other. They tear up a little and he'll smile and touch their cheek.

I love that man so much.

It occurs to me, they see him as a bit of an elder figure, not quite a father, but more of an older, wiser brother. God, Doctor, but we're getting old. In a few months Rory and I will turn 39. Wasn't it just yesterday we were newlyweds?

Anyway, their lives are so interesting, their joys and sorrows and struggles. They're happy and sad and hopeful and fearful and they're angry, they're so angry sometimes and they don't have anyone to talk to, so they talk to me. I always ask them if I can quote them and I'm perfectly happy to leave it anonymous or change a name. But I tell them you're in this war too, we all are. What do the signs we pass every day say, "Do your part!" "Make do with less, so they have more!" but no one ever asks. "How is it going, all that making do with less? Are you ok? Are you tired? Are you hungry? Are you lonely? Are you scared?"

I don't know what I'm going to do with it all. I don't know if anyone would be interested, at least not yet, but I know it's valuable. They're valuable and I'm a writer, so I should be writing. I just want to be useful. I want you to be proud of me. I want  _me_ to be proud of me.

Haven't heard from Bracey in awhile. I'm not sure what's happening but I admit I'm worried. They're reading our mail, specifically his, very closely and I can't help but think he may be involved in something secretive and possibly dangerous. Rory has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of what's happening, down to the smallest detail. I can give him any date, he thinks for a moment and rattles off precisely what's happening and where. He says he had a few thousand years to live history  _and_  brush up on it. His theory is that Paisley is heading for Canada with Churchill to something called the Quebec Conference. I pressed him for a bit more information but he only answered me with, "Let's wait and see." Which I interpret to mean something bad is happening. I assume you know.

Rory's back to work. He had a vasectomy. He did that for me, or rather as he says, he did it for us. We'd gone back to using condoms like horny teenagers but it just wasn't working, plus both of us swear they're thicker now than in our day. We just wanted to be together, nothing in between us, no latex, no stress, just Rory and me. And now it is. Just us, Rory and I, mirroring each other again, both of us now as infertile, as rocky, barren ground. That sounds bitter, maybe more bitter than I feel.

Guess that's all from this end. It's time for Casey, Crime Photographer. It's one of Rory and my favorite radio shows.

We love you Doctor.

We hope you can feel that, even when we're so far away from one another.

I do miss the running, the fighting, the quick thinking. But I miss the quiet times too. I wish you and Rory and I could just sit in front of the fireplace, have a kiss and cuddle, turn on the radio and be a family.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

-Your Amy and Rory

 


	22. August 23, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Rough Draft - Correspondence Regarding Draft Board Appointment**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of August 1943

Dear Mr. Wellings,

Firstly, let me thank you for the well wishes following my graduation. I am very excited that I will have the opportunity to serve both Bellevue, which I have come to love, as well as my community. I could not possibly have succeeded were it not for your support and mentorship and I remain in your debt.

I am flattered that you would consider me as a replacement for the late Dr. Miller on the draft board. I respected him and on many occasions sought his wisdom and counsel. However, I must regretfully decline. As you are no doubt aware, I am only just now settling into my work at the hospital. In addition to this I have been volunteering my time at the free clinic as well as making occasional pop by's at the VA. At this time, my schedule is rather full to accept such a daunting and important position.

I thank you for your consideration as well as your faith in my abilities.

Yours most sincerely,

Dr. Rory A. Williams


	23. August 24, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of August 1943

A few thousand years ago today, I stood on a battlefield under orders of my Lord Honorius in a useless attempt to defend the Holy City. Alaric was coming and he was relentless, the sack of Rome was inevitable. And still I ordered some thousand men forward to their fated deaths to fight the Visigoth horde.

It isn't easy to stay out of history's way when you're rather immortal. Ruaidhri, my Celtic name that I was known by then, rose rather rapidly through the ranks of the legion. Every now and then I'd have to fake my own death or pretend to be my own brother or son. A legend grew around my name whether I wanted it or not. This in addition to the rumors of the lone Centurion and the box he guarded.

410 AD was neither the first nor the last time I had sent men and in some instances boys into battle. I fought alongside them, I held them as they died and informed their families that they lived honorably and died bravely. But before that I was often in charge of recruiting, of choosing the best and brightest and strongest.

It was hell.

I have no desire to do it again. Frankly the idea of being on the draft board horrifies me. I've done my bit for Queen and country, King and country, Emperor and country, Caesar and empire. I'm an old military man who wants nothing more than to put those days behind me, live quietly, adore my wife and perhaps to somehow make up for the lives I added as grist to the war machine. And the lives I took.

Amy asked me today, for the first time if I'd ever killed anyone. She'd been talking to one of the mothers she sits for. Apparently her husband is in Tripoli and his letters home reveal he's distraught at what he's had to do there. He's worried about who he's become.

I don't blame him, he should be. I suppose it made her think about me.

Holding her in my arms last night, I stroked Amy's hair and tried to think of how best to answer. In the end it came down to a simple, "Yes."

She wanted me to elaborate and I will, some day.

Instead I told her, I became a nurse because of her relentless childhood infatuation with the Doctor. Hoping some of her love for him might transfer to me. At least initially that was the reason. Then I came to realize I loved it.

I became a Doctor, because I owed something to this world. Because in protecting the life most precious to me I had a hand in the taking of so many others.

The Doctor isn't the only one with a multitude of sins.

He isn't the only one who wants to atone.

He isn't the only one who wants to be forgiven.


	24. September 1, 1943

1st of September, 1943

Dear Amy,

Greetings from the Great White North! I can tell you that Dorabella and I are a mere 600 or so miles away from you and Rory. We have embraced our pioneer spirit. At the behest of the Prime Minister I have been asked to participate in a new planned community in Chalk River, Ontario created specifically for the war effort. At the moment we are some of the first arrivals and nearly the only ones here but within months this will be a bustling mini-metropolis. Other than stating that my work involves research I really shouldn't go into any further details.

However, Dorabella and I are happy to be here. It is the first trip to North America for both of us and we look forward to exploring. It is actually lovely here. There's not much to do in these early days and we have spent a good deal of time hiking, taking pictures and introducing ourselves to locals. I've included a few pictures.

In my free time I once again returned to the book you sent me. The adventure was so fantastic and I've read it through several times over the years. All of you, all four of you were, _are_ so very brave. Perhaps I just needed to be inspired by a spot of courage. I find myself picking it up when I need a reminder that absolute good does exist in the universe, even if the Doctor is so far away.

We would very much like to visit you and Rory before years end. Perhaps on Christmas Holiday should circumstances permit?

I am happy to hear you are writing again, my dear. Perhaps one day soon I will see your byline in a newspaper. Amy Pond-Williams, intrepid reporter! Did I ever mention how fascinating I find it that you style yourself by both your maiden and married name? How very modern! Though I assume all young girls do the same in your time.

You sound as though you are in fine spirits, my dear Amy and I hope that continues in perpetuity. If and when you do decide to write about the Doctor I would be most interested to read those tales. Perhaps the children you care for might like them as well.

Enclosed please find a few pictures of Dorabella and I, our new house as well as the facilities and laboratories which are only now getting their finishing touches. I believe we will do great work here, important work that will make this world a better place.

I look forward to hearing from you soon, my dear.

Take care and send Rory my best,

Yours,

"Bracey"


	25. September 20, 1943

20th of September 1943

Dear Bracey,

They say that the very first rejection letter you get you frame it because it's supposed to represent something. It's your first attempt, you know? And sure, you got kicked in the teeth a bit right out of the gate but that's ok. That's what's supposed to happen. You can't take it personally. What they don't tell you is what to do after you've gotten your sixthteenth. It's getting a lot harder to be charitable once the rejections reach the double digits. I've really been trying hard to shop around my idea of Women on the Home Front (that's what I'm calling it) but so far no takers. About halfway through, after getting say my seventh patronizing reply that all but started with, "What a cute thing you're trying to do little lady..." I started simply signing my name as A. Williams. Perhaps they'll figure my name is Al! It did change the responses. They became a bit harsher. But not about my writing, that I can take. I've picked apart by some of the best editors in London, I can take a critique. But these were more about the subject matter. Mostly I get, 'no one wants to read about screaming kids and housewives crying over their laundry while men are getting their brains blown out all over the Solomon Islands.' Like I wrote earlier, now might not be the best time for this but I don't care. I'm going to keep trying and hope somewhere out there someone understands that these women have value and that there are people who want to read about them.

I did take your suggestion and I started to tell the children about my Raggedy Doctor. I've never heard them all so quiet and well behaved. They loved it! They loved him. But then again who wouldn't, he's a hero, the best kind of hero. I told them about the first adventure he and I ever had together. How he came to me when I was a little girl. It occurs to me I've never told you that either. He dropped out of the sky when I was seven. Crashed landed the TARDIS into my backyard. He saved me. He saved me over and over and over again and once or twice, on the rarest of occasions, I saved him.

I got a bit cynical after the Doctor left. I tried to tell everyone about him, how wonderful he was, how he had saved us all and they just called me crazy. To be quite honest it made me rather mean. Oh, God I was so awful to Rory, I told him the Easter Bunny didn't exist. I told him Santa was bollocks. I was a cruel little Scot but he loved me, even then. Anyway, I'm working my way through our adventures. It's nice to remember.

Speaking of Rory, he's working a much better shift at the hospital now and even with his work at the clinic I get to see him more often. It's nice to just get back to us, the two of us. We work, you know? We just fit together. I try not to do the math, I try not to focus on the countdown but by my estimate I still have 43 more years with him. I have to tell myself everyday, don't think about it like that. Just enjoy your life. The truth is I only saw his gravestone not my own. Maybe I don't have all those years with him. Maybe I die before him. Maybe I die tomorrow. Who can say?

He's authoring a paper that I'm helping him proof on improved sanitary conditions and the treatment of polio. He's brilliant, that husband of mine. I read his work, he reads mine and then we give each other notes. Hopefully we'll both be published someday soon.

I can't believe you're so close! You all must absolutely come see us for Christmas! By my time, well I haven't seen you in nearly 16 years, my friend. 16 years. Time is moving so fast. A planned community you say and all to help win the war? I can't even imagine what that means. I think Rory knows but he won't tell me, he keeps putting me off which of course worries me. He just say, "Amy, let's just wait and see." But that just makes me worry about you, my friend. I know I end every letter this way and I really look forward to the day I won't have to but, stay safe Bracey. Whatever you're doing...stay safe.

Love,

Amy, Rory and Spartacus The Great


	26. September 24, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24 of September 1943

I'm fairly certain that Bracewell is working on the Atomic bomb. The time adds up. When Amy told me he was in Canada a few months back that would place he and Churchill at the Quebec Conference. The postmark of his letter says Chalk River, the home of the first nuclear reactor outside the States, also one of the clusters working on the Manhattan Project. I don't know how involved he is, I don't know what type of research he's doing, but it fits. If Amy says he's a good man then I'm inclined to believe her, she's a fantastic judge of character. Not to mention far be it for me to cast aspersions on a humanoid lifeform, I mean trust me, I've been there. But there is something horribly fitting about Dalek technology having a hand in crafting the most destructive weapon this planet has ever seen. I haven't told Amy because it might not be true, he could simply be a cog in the wheel and I don't want to color how she sees her friend. I could be wrong.

The truth is I have much bigger problems at the moment.

My letter to the committee was not well received. I thought that might happen but the backlash has been rather swift. There isn't a day that goes by that they don't push the idea. I've started leaving the premises at lunch, meeting Amy at a diner or a pub or just sitting in the park by myself lest they ambush me...again. The last time it happened I was standing at the urinal for God sakes. One of them, Grainger is his name, saddles up to me and says "You know Rory, we'll still holding a place for you." It was like something out of a B movie except they're very, very serious.

They want someone respected in the community they say, someone the people will trust, not to mention the need for a doctor to conduct physicals and classify the young men. But I know the real reason. The board looks exactly like what it is, a group of elderly men charged with sending the young off to die. I would, in some way, balance it out for them, make them look a tad less menacing.

I don't want any part of it. But I'm starting to feel like I might not have a choice. There was an implied threat from my administrator revolving around performance reviews which are due soon. Welling isn't above delivering on a threat and he has connections to every major hospital in New York, he'd blacklist me in a heartbeat. Normally I wouldn't care, under normal circumstances I'd tell them to go fuck themselves and if we had to, Amy and I would pull up stakes and go elsewhere. But this is far from normal circumstances there is nowhere else for us to go. On top of all that I'm in the process of writing my paper, and possibly securing grant funding for studies in polio research. I decided why the hell should I wait for Salk when people are dying? I don't want credit for it, I just want this disease to stop.

Not to mention I've heard that our local draft board is mis-categorizing...purposefully, just to up their recruitment numbers. In fact we've got a disturbingly high number of 1A's, i.e. those deemed immediately available for service. I don't know what exactly is going on but I see the terror in parents faces when their sons are called. I hear the surety in their voices as they say, "They're going to ship him over." before he's even had a physical.

Maybe I could help. Maybe I could do some good. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing.

I don't even know anymore.

 


	27. October 12, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12 of October, 1943

Dear Doctor,

Rory came home absolutely fuming. He'd neglected to tell me what had been going on at work but today it became unavoidable. He's essentially being press ganged into joining the draft board. It's actually a bit scary, he said something to the effect of, "Once they brought you into it..." He trailed off, I tried to get him to continue but he waved it away. Apparently he had a big blow up with one of his superiors.

They sent me home, he said. To cool off. But it's really just to make a decision. My final decision. I saw the papers, Amy. They'll have me removed like that. License revoked, never able to practice medicine again.

Spartacus, the kids and I were so surprised when he burst through the door at half past one. I told the children to draw me their best version of you and the Star Whale and pulled him into our bedroom.

He asked me what I thought we should do. We might have to stay in Manhattan but we sure as hell don't have to stay here. He said. It's a 13 mile island, not big, but we don't deserve to be harassed like this! We have money. He said. We don't need for me to work, or at least not there but...

I told him, Wherever you go, I go. If it's best that we move, we move. Whatever, whenever so long as I'm with you.

He relaxed after that, gracing me with a smile.

I love you, Amy. He said.

You could teach. I said. Classical literature, Ancient languages. Latin. Hebrew. Aramaic. Greco-Roman history. Medieval. Anything, you know _everything_.

He smiled at me.

Amy, I'm not a genius. I'm just an old man who's seen way more than he should.

You're a genius to me. I'm sure Melody could make up some papers for you. I pressed. Or we could just use the psychic paper she left for us in the safe deposit box. Instant transcripts, letters of recommendation.

But I wouldn't be  _helping_ anybody, Amy. He said. I could help so many people here. At least I think I could. I could try.

He looked so sad, so forlorn and as we lay on the bed I gathered my husband into my arms.

I don't think they'll be any re-do's for this life, you know? No universe reboots. No almost deaths. This one, I have to live all the way through. I have to get it right. It has to matter, Amy. Do I sound arrogant? I don't mean to, I just have so much I have to... Look at me, thinking I have to change the world. Thinking I  _could_. Too much influence from the Doctor, I suppose.

Bollocks, you've always been a good man no one had to teach you. Come on, love. Let's be having a smile, Mr. Pond.

Readymade assumed name, Mr Pond. He said with a sad chuckle. When we ran with the Doctor, we didn't feel it, you know?

I nodded.

You don't feel all that weariness and exhaustion. He continued. But I'm so tired of running, Amy, I'm tired.

Me too. We'll go play with kids, yeah? I suggested. They love their Uncle Rory. Tomorrow, Dr. Williams, you'll tell the board they have their new member. We'll deal with what comes after that, like we always do.

He sighed deeply before nodding.

Five more minutes, ok? He asked closing his eyes as I held him.

Of course.

I see why you hate linear time, Doctor. it draws out like a blade, a blade that's more than likely going to cut you at some point. Why don't any of these decisions get easier? I know, I know. I can hear your voice in my head, "Because that wouldn't be life, Pond. Life is complicated and messy and hard, especially human life. You do the best you can. You're  _doing_  the best you can."

Did I get it right? Is that what you'd say? I can still conjure your voice up in my head when I need to, I suppose that's pretty lucky. Remember that video I took on my phone, of the three of us swimming on Casperana VI? Rory and I squint over that tiny phone screen and watch it sometimes, just to remember.

We hope you have things to remember us by, too.

Love across the stars Doctor,

Amy


	28. October 19, 1943

19th of October 1943

Dear Amy,

Chalk River swells around us. New families arrive every day, filling the barracks and the little houses. Dorabella and I introduce ourselves to each one and we feel we've made quite a few new friends here. I am keenly aware of what you mentioned early on in our correspondence. My accent does occasionally prove to be a problem but we muddle through, don't we?

I speak almost daily with the Prime Minister though his duties keep our conversations brief. You've no doubt heard that the Germans now occupy Rome and Hitler still supports his old comrade Mussolini. Some of the news we are receiving is even worse than that. All is not dire though, we've taken Bari and the Americans have secured Sardinia. Corsica and Naples are free.

But life is difficult enough without me bogging you down with bad news, dear. How goes the writing? I'm sorry to hear about the rejection letters. I have always been of the opinion that a good tale is a good tale no matter which sex it comes from. Perhaps you might consider contacting some of the newspapers or publishers here. I have taken the liberty of collecting a few names and addresses from several publications and am sending them along.

I had no idea you met the Doctor as such a young girl! How exciting that must have been for you. No wonder you have a mind and a spirit for adventure. I spent only a few moments with him in the grand scheme of things and it left me forever changed. I can only imagine what it did for you.

My young Amy, it may seem counterintuitive if not downright impossible as we struggle through this world covered in ash and misery and horror but do not preoccupy yourself with death, Rory's or your own. It only eats away at the life you're trying to live. I have my own dark days as well. As you mentioned in your first letter to me, I may in fact be immortal. Even if not, I am more than likely so long lived I will surpass all my friends, all those I care about, you and my dear Dorabella. When I think of my future I sometimes see a long corridor of darkness. I soothe myself with the thought that that is the future  _not_  the present and I should be most grateful with what I have and the second chance I was given by you and the Doctor. I comfort myself with the knowledge that, come what may I shall have all my memories to keep me company.

You should live as the Doctor would want you to live, as I imagine he wants us all to live. Boldly and fearlessly, a charge I think you are handling with aplomb. If anything you and Rory should love each other harder, more fiercely, appreciating every moment together.

Speaking of Rory I wish him every success in his endeavors. One can scarcely imagine an end to the scourge that is polio but I will cheer when that day comes.

Neither of you should worry about me or about our work here. What we do here, should we succeed, is for the good of everyone.

I apologize for the brevity of this message but I've been appointed temporary head of research and my free time has been somewhat truncated. I look forward to your next letter.

Love,

Bracey


	29. November 11, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of November 1943

In the end I really had no choice. They effectively threatened me into service and the threats worked. I didn't tell Amy right away, no reason to scare her. Allied forces or not it was mentioned in no uncertain terms that a Limy and Scot no matter how American they "claimed" to be were likely to fall under suspicion if they didn't do their duty.

"No family to speak of Rory," Welling oozed. "No parents, cousins, hardly even any friends. And most of your mail comes from overseas. What would people say if they really started to question you, Rory? If that's really your name. I've been digging and your past...is a curious one, Doctor Williams? Doctor _who_?"

Christ, the irony of it all. The damnable irony. Are you getting all this, Doctor, wherever you are? I think it would be a right good laugh if it weren't happening to us.

Every morning I sign what is indeed my name dozens upon dozens of times a day on the bottom of little 3 by 5 cards. These little cards effectively sum up someones life or if not their life their worth to this government. Height, weight, age, race, name and address. I sign the bottom of the notification alerting them of their classification and if selected from that moment on they are enlisted men in the United States Army.

Before that I go to work and I talk to Mr. Ostin in the iron lung ward. We discuss his children, his wife and some of the pretty nurses. Mr. Ostin has no control over his muscles due to the disease attacking his central nervous system. The left side of his face droops where polio has weakened his cranial nerves. He's completely immobile but we speak about the day where he might be able to play baseball again. He was a shortstop for the Williamsport Grays in the 1930's.

I visit my other patients in the ward then proceed with my daily rounds. I usually work straight on through lunch, going over my notes, updating charts and rewriting my paper. I check the post and wait for news from the grant committee. After lunch I walk five blocks to the local high school gymnasium. I move in and out of lines that snake nearly around the building until I arrive at the front door. There's nothing but noise and activity inside, the smell of sweat and nerves, blood, piss and and endless barrage of questions that float to my ears followed by timid, halting answers.

I take my place at the area cordoned off for physicals. I rate the boys on the silliest of things, jumping jacks, the number of squats and sit ups they could do. Pull ups, shuttle runs and a battery of other things. It was nonsense. None of these would help you in battle, none of them would sharpen your wits, none of them would make you a soldier, but this was the barometer with which I had to judge. I'd fill out their score cards and send them on to the next area. If they failed, they were designated 4-F or something similar and sent home. If they passed it was on to vision tests, hearing tests, blood tests, urine tests and finally what passed as a psych evaluation. Sometimes I did that too, despite my protestations that I was not a trained psychologist.

Have you ever suffered from depression?  
Do you have any enemies?  
Do you like girls?

I asked these young men, the hundreds who came to stand before me these same questions hour after hour, day after day. I tried to comfort them, tried to listen to them and in some cases tried to find any reason not to send them. Flat feet? 4F. Asthma? 4F. Brittle bones? 4F. Possible syphilis? 4F. I sent them home, as many as I could and I told them to go to school, find God and join the clergy or just run, but for Christ sakes make it so they never, ever came back here again.

My first day I had more 4-F's, 1-A's and 1-Y's than our board had seen in the past six months. When questioned I stood by my findings and told them if they didn't want me I'd happily resign. I'm still here.

But some of them I couldn't save. Some of them were solid 1-A's fit for service and whether terrified or filled with that naive confidence only the young possess I signed their cards and sent them off. They were told to bring enough clothing for 3 days and sometimes that was it. They were hustled onto buses and shipped to boot camp that very day. I wonder how many of them knew when they said goodbye to their parents that morning they might not see them again for years, perhaps forever.

My first day on the job I excused myself, stepped out into the alley and vomited. I don't want to be this man again. I don't want to send scared children off to die. But somehow I had wound up here. Century after century I wind up here. Is that how life works, or is it destiny, was I fated to be caught in this pendulum swing between saving and killing, injuring and healing, life and death? Is that written into my stars if there even is such a thing?

I come home each night, exhausted and mentally destroyed and I'm tended to by the most loving and wonderful wife in the world. She and I are stronger than ever. I need her so much now and I'm glad she's here. I can't imagine doing this alone.

When I can spare a thought, I think about the Doctor. I remember when Amy and I had shoved our ego's aside for our friend, our lover and specifically put into the afterword that he should not be alone. He should never be alone. Stubborn arse that he is, I'm glad he listened. Amy told me about Clara and while for a flash we were both a tiny bit jealous, overall we're happy. He shouldn't have to do this... _life_  alone either. Who could possibly manage it?


	30. November 20, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of November 1943

Dear Doctor,

I never said thank you.

You did as I asked, you came back. It's still weird, even after all this time to have new memories crop up in my head, replacing or changing old ones. I remember being small and sitting there on my suitcase, my hands and nose getting cold, staring up at the dawn sky, waiting for you, it never occurring to me that you wouldn't keep your word. Maybe five minutes was different for you. Maybe space time was different than Earth time. No matter what, I just knew you'd be back.

And then, there you were. That lovely sound of the TARDIS, the wind kicking up all about and back came that police box. You flung open the door and rushed towards me. You picked me up in your arms and swung me around. You called me, 'Your Amelia, your dear, sweet, Amelia'. You squeezed me so hard I couldn't breathe and I laughed and said 'You're late, but I don't care! Can we go now? I'm packed. I want to see the inside of your spaceship!'

Now, when I recall, I remember how sad you looked. I asked you, 'What's wrong, Doctor? Is your ship still broken?'

"No, love, not broken. It's fine."

'You look sad.'

"Not sad...just...well, yes actually a little sad. Don't want to start off and finish up by lying to you. Let's get you inside, you'll catch your-...come on, inside with you."

You tried to direct me towards the house but I darted around you and ran to the TARDIS. I pushed the door open and I saw the most wonderful sight I'd ever witnessed. My first view of that big, beautiful lovely console room and the TARDIS we'd one day share.

You went rushing after me, I thought once I stepped inside you'd yank me out. But you didn't. You just put your hands on my shoulders and said.

"So, what do you think?"

'It's true. It's just like you said.'

"That's what you said the first time."

I didn't get it then but I was barely listening, I was too busy looking around at all the beauty you'd brought into my life.

"Fancy a tour, Miss Pond?" You said offering me your hand.

'Show me the swimming pool!'

And you did. We had to hunt for it first but it turned up, like you said it would.

I felt sleep start to stalk me. Why now? I wondered, I'd been so alert the whole night. Why, when you finally came back was I tired? Thankfully all the adrenaline rushing through me kept me going, room after room, corridor after corridor, holding your hand as we raced forward. I trusted you so much, even then. We ran all over that ship and when I got tired you picked me up and carried me around pointing out all the wonders to me.

When we made it back to the console room I rested my head on your shoulder.

'When are we leaving? I don't need a nap.'

"Well don't you think we'd best alert your Aunt Sharon?"

'She'll figure it out.'

You chuckled and said, "You're so Scottish."

Then you paused.

"But, I can't take you with me this time, Amy."

'Amy?'

I remember not liking Amy at all until you said it. The next day I insisted everyone call me Amy from then on.

"Sorry,  _Amelia_."

'Why not?' I asked. I remember being so heartbreakingly disappointed.

"Amelia, do you trust me?"

'You came back for me.' I said as though that answered the question.

"I did, indeed.  _When_ I _can_ , I'll  _always_ come back for you. I'll always come back."

Your voice broke, but again I barely noticed.

"I just can't take you with me this time, love." You said as you carried me out of the TARDIS and back to the house.

I whined, I protested, like I always do, like I always have. I tried to come up with the most reasonable arguments a seven year old could muster as you carried me to my room, tucked me in and sat on the side of my bed.

Every scenario I proposed you gently explained wouldn't work. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you.

I started to cry then, I couldn't help it.

"Amelia Pond, not crying over me, I hope?" You said stroking my hair. In my memory, I remember your eyes looked so sad.

I nodded.

'I want to go with you, Doctor.'

"And you will. Just not today. Shall I tell you about all the adventures we'll have? You and I? You're going to have such an amazing life, so many fantastic exciting days. Amelia Jessica Pond you will be one of the best stories I have ever had the privilege to be a part of."

'How do you know?'

"Because I'm very, very clever. And so are you. Try and remember...when they tease you, love, when they doubt you, when they tell you I don't exist, that I'm just a story in your head, you just remember that I promised you, I swore I'd come back. It'll be you and me and Ro-...all of us in the TARDIS where we belong. You just have to be patient."

'Will you stay with me?'

"I'd have stayed with you both forever. But as it is, I'll stay until you fall asleep."

'Tell me a story.'

"Ok, Pond. Perhaps a story about Amelia the pirate, Amelia the hero, Amelia the muse, Amelia the light of a centurions life...and mine. Which reminds me, that little boy in your school, your friend Rory, be nice to him, he's a mate to the end, trust me. It's all still waiting for you, the whole wide world and the next one and the next one and the next one. This is just the start of it all for you, Amelia. This is just the prologue. This is the tale of Amelia Pond and this, my dear braveheart, is how it all begins."

I was nearly asleep when you left but I know you kissed me on the forehead.

"Bye bye, Pond."

I threw sleepy, tired, trusting little arms around your neck for a hug and you hugged me fiercely in return.

"Wait for me, Pond." You implored. "Wait for me and get ready to run."

And then you were gone.

Is that how you remember it going? I think I have it pretty well memorized. I used to recite it to myself, the whole conversation, like a mantra. It kept me warm when the world got cold and mean. The Doctor's words.  _Your_ words were my armor, so I memorized every line. It occurs to me, I guess we met a bit back to front too, didn't we? Just like you and Melody. My first. Your last.

Would you believe there are times when I still wonder if you're real? Not often, just every few years or so. When I worry I'll mention you to Rory and he'll stare at me blankly. When I worry I'm just some daft middle aged lady who imagined all of this. But then I think of you and I remember. I  _remember_.

Today is my birthday, I turned 39 which means you, Raggedy Man, have been in my life and Rory's life, by proxy for 32 years.

32 years.

I saved a big slice of cake for you with a big, ridiculous buttercream flower on it just like you like. I know how you whine if you don't get the flower. You're such a child. You can have it if you come by. I know you'd come back for us if you could, Doctor. I know you'd always come back.

Because of that and because you kept your promise to me, thank you.

Thank you, Doctor.

Don't worry too much about us. We're doing ok, we just miss you.

Love Across The Stars,

The Birthday Girl Who Waited and The Last Best Centurion


	31. November 23, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
 **Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
 **Frequency: Intermittent**  
 **Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of November 1943

Sometimes when Amy's writing, Spartacus and I go for a walk in Central Park. I like the park. Occasionally all three of us go for long, marathon treks, just enjoying and memorizing all it has to offer. When it's just me, by myself, strolling around, sometimes I take this journal. There are instances, when the mood strikes me that I decide to write down some of the things that happened to me over that long stretch of 2000 years. I don't know why. I suppose because I don't want to ever forget them. I suppose because Amy likes to hear them and anything she appreciates I start to see with new eyes and inevitably love. When I tell her the stories, it somehow makes my memories more vibrant and it makes her more present within them. She wasn't just sleeping in the box, dormant for millennia, she was with me, helping me, encouraging me, telling me if I waited, we'd be together. That's enough call I suppose to put pen to paper.

A few times I tried my hand at being one of those guys who plays chess on the benches and takes on all comers. My dad taught me how to play chess. He always used to say, "If you want to sharpen your wits, Rory, you have to learn how to play chess. Chess teaches a man to think and strategize and plan. Chess is a blueprint for a well ordered life." I'm not bad at the game but I was always up for a more leisurely pace than the bench men of the park. Still I enjoyed sitting there, watching them, watching the people, listening to conversations. In a strange way it made me feel closer to my dad, I miss him...he's not even been born yet.

I made a friend here actually, quite recently, in fact we've having him drop by for Thanksgiving. I overheard a conversation in Russian between two men. They were discussing the Talmud and arguing over a specific passage. One of them was contending that it was Rabbi Yishmael who said, "The true strength of a man is shown by his ability to stretch even the narrowest of minds." The other said it was Rabbi Gamliel. I broke in, in my fairly rusty Russian and said, "I beg your pardon, but that was actually Rabbi Akiva." They both sort of stared at me for a moment and then one asked what yeshiva I had attended. I said I hadn't, I was just an amateur and a lapsed Anglican who liked to read a lot, which isn't far from the truth. You'd be amazed what you can teach yourself when you have all the time in the world. As I told Amy, I'm not a genius, I've just lived a very, very long time and you pick up a few things, one of them being languages the other being occasional tidbits of religious scholarship.

Anyway, we struck up a conversation, their names were Raphael and Gregory, the former an artist and the latter a writer, both of whom had emigrated here from Russia as teenagers. We chatted a bit before Gregory had to leave and Raphael and I talked for nearly two hours. I told him about Amy and our life, he told me about his childhood, his father was an Hebrew scholar who raised his children to be intellectual, creative freethinkers. Raphael then showed me his artwork and several sketches he'd been working on just that day. His work and style looked familiar and I realized Amy and I had actually seen some of his paintings on display at local galleries. We switched back and forth between Russian and English and soon found ourselves making plans to meet again.

My point in all this is, I think I've adjusted. I think I've settled in. I think this is home now. That's a relief, a frightening one, like letting go of the reins of a horse and just accepting your fate in the runaway wagon. But I think I'm doing it, I think we both are. Amy and I have been looking into buying a house, not far away from the apartment. We'd both like a place with a driveway and a yard, maybe a little garden. I still plan on starting a private practice, most likely after the war. On top of that, perhaps the biggest news is that Amy and I have started talking about adoption. We wanted to wait, give ourselves time to grieve and adjust, maybe even give ourselves over to the fact that we still wanted to be parents. We do. We do, so very badly. The fact is we've put down roots here and despite troubles at work, despite a war going on, I have my wife and a lovely flat and a future that I can see and taste. I always wanted to be settled with Amy, I suppose the era didn't matter, 21st century, 52nd or 1940's. When I think of how far we've come, where we were last year, tearing apart at the seams, reeling from the loss of Adora, I can't help but wonder what next year will bring and for once I wonder without dread.

For this, I am truly thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sum total of my knowledge regarding Rabbi's from the 1st Century and yeshiva's comes almost exclusively from Yentl which is where I lifted one line of this, so, if I'm wrong or if it was stupid, a thousand pardons. But, anything to support head canon, right?
> 
> We might not hear from Bracewell for awhile. He's a bit busy splitting the atom, but we'll see.


	32. November 25, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

25th of November 1943

Dear Doctor,

I rather like the excesses of Thanksgiving, the food, the gluttony, it's all so very American. Have you ever celebrated Thanksgiving, Doctor? In any case, the gluttony isn't what it used to be. Our first year here in 1939, before rationing, before the war began in earnest, we had an embarrassment of food and desserts. This year things are much more scarce. Most of the turkeys and chickens are understandably being sent overseas to the soldiers and those left here are rather scrawny and small. But we make do and at least, at the start, we all had a wonderful holiday. I was elbow deep in a bird when a flash of light off to my right in the kitchen caught my eye.

Mum, I never imagined you being so domestic!

Melody. My beautiful Melody. I hadn't expected to see her and after a thorough hand washing I wrapped her in my arms and thought I might never let her go.

I called out to Rory and we had a family reunion. We all made dinner, together. Three time travelers, kneading dough and coring apples and spilling spices and sneezing because there's far too much pepper and burning our fingers on dishes that were too hot and nibbling away at this and that. The only thing missing was you. How I'd love to see you bustling around a kitchen, trying to help, getting in the way, getting distracted, distracting us. I had the time of my life. Just a mum, a dad and their baby.

We took a few pictures which I've slipped into the journal. Me in my red skirt and black jumper, Rory in his brown jumper and trousers and Melody in her stylish royal blue dress. Or is it TARDIS blue, Doctor? Ha ha. I still say that, you know, and I get the strangest looks. TARDIS blue. Anyways, I think we look like a lovely family here, don't you?

I'd invited a friend from the neighborhood, Sunny, her brother Michael and Sunny's children. Rory had invited his new friend Raphael. All together there was eight of us and with a few flexible substitutions, (thank you New York Times helpful hints), there was more than enough to go around. We talked, we laughed, we listened to the radio. Melody was her usual charming self. Rory smoothly lied as he answered questions about who she was and no one seemed really inquisitive. Sunny's brother who was serving in the army but lost his leg was sullen at first but seemed to warm to us all and I had a wonderful time playing with the kids. Raphael and Rory chatted about art, culture, politics and we all engaged in playful, hypothetical arguments and discussions. Occasionally Raphael would take out his sketch pad, he seemed to always be drawing something but he never let us see it.

When Melody disappeared, at first I didn't notice. The kids and Sunny and I were playing  _Cluedo_  on the floor, which at this moment in time is called  _Murder_. I made a few guesses involving the library and candlesticks but it was if Rory and I noticed Melody was gone at the same time. He looked at me, I looked at him and mouthed, I'll go check.

I walked around the flat, calling her name softly and when I passed the loo I heard the unmistakable sounds of retching. I knocked lightly after I heard the flush.

Just a moment.

No rush, but are you ok?

Fine, Mum, fine... Um, you can come in.

I turned the knob and stepped inside, she was splashing water on her face and seemed to be avoiding looking at me.

I hope dinner wasn't that bad. If you're sick to your stomach your Dad can take a look at you. Or you can have a lie down. I'm sorry you're not well. It wasn't the turkey was it, cause I'd better start warning people.

She chuckled but there was no mirth in it.

No, of course not. Dinner was wonderful. I'm amazed at what you can do with-

You have a toothbrush in the vanity, where it always is.

She had been about to squirt some toothpaste on her finger when I interrupted her.

You have a toothbrush for me?

She closed her eyes and leaned on the sink as if for support. For some reason this information didn't please her.

Yeah, we also have a dressing gown and pj's and-

She held up her hand as if to stop me, opened the vanity, grabbed her toothbrush and started brushing.

Melody.

I advanced on her. You always had to advance on River and sort of ambush her with affection. So willing to give it, so reluctant to receive. My poor, wee girl.

I'm fine, Mum.

You don't look fine, you look tired.

I touched her back and she flinched but I kept my palm there, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

So, when are you due? I asked.

The toothbrush clattered it the sink and she started coughing. She stopped long enough to turn accusing eyes on me.

Mum!

What? I'm not stupid, love. First off, we love you and congratulations. Second, you're married I should hope you and the Doctor are having a normal sex life. You're a woman, he's a man-

_You_ would know. She cut in caustically.

I blushed. I admit I hadn't expected that. Did you tell her, Doctor?

Sorry. She added after a moment.

No. No it's alright. I just wasn't sure if he'd...Anyways, you don't have to hide this from me and your Dad, you know.

There is no reason to bring Dad into any of this. She hissed petulantly.

No reason to bring Dad into what? Rory asked, appearing out of the blue. He made his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

I don't believe this! Melody said squeezing her eyes shut. She looked cornered, I knew she wasn't accustomed to being told what to do and certainly wasn't accustomed to her parents behaving like parents. But I didn't care, Doctor, I knew it was right because it felt right.

She's pregnant. I said to Rory.

His face registered shock and then broke into a wide grin.

Oh my God. Melody, congratulations!

He opened his arms to embrace our daughter but she took a step back. Actually she stepped back into the bathtub, pressing herself against the wall.

Neither of you are listening to me!

I couldn't help but quirk a smile.

I imagine this is how it would have been if we'd raised her proper. Too much of my wildness in her blood. She probably would have come home pregnant at 16, terrified to tell us. So unaware we'd do nothing but love her.

Melody, there's nothing to be ashamed. Rory began. We love you, we love the Doctor and sex is-

_Don't_  lecture me about sex.  _Don't_  lecture me about the Doctor and  _do not_ lecture me about sex with the Doctor no matter how much you know about it.

Rory swallowed hard, as much at her venom as her knowing accusation.

Listen to my words, Mum, Dad and try to follow. I am  _not_  pregnant.

The room fell silent for a moment and I have to admit I was rather crushed. I want her to have your children, Doctor. I almost think you might need to hear that from me. Your mother in law. For God sakes knock my daughter up will you? I can hear you, even now, in my head, "Oh the risks, Amy. The danger. You don't understand." But I do understand. Life is about risks. You take a lot of them, so why not take this one? I wanted it to be true this time, even if it would have made me a 39 year old grandmother. Even if I never even got to see the baby.

Ok. So if you're not pregnant, then why were you sick?

I have to go. She said suddenly.

She leaned a bit out of the bathtub and reached for the vortex manipulator she'd left on the edge of the sink.

But you just got here. It's Thanksgiving and you just never stay long enough.

The tears started to sting my eyes and I reached for her but she pulled away.

Rory was silent as he watched her put the time jumping device on her wrist.

It's that thing isn't it? He said suddenly. You never take it off, or rather you never  _used_ to but the last few times you've visited...

She looked at both of us in horror and I knew it was true.

Rory advanced on her this time, not caring whether she drew back, his voice raised.

It's this  _thing_! It's hurting you, every time you come back for us, it hurts you!

He reached for her wrist.

Dad, let go of me!

You're killing yourself! Don't you understand we can't lose you. We can't lose our first born, our baby, not again! Not, ever, ever again, do you hear me Melody Williams? This stops now!

Rory! Let me go!

I am not  _Rory_. I am your father. That is your mother and if this is making you ill you are never to come back here again. Do you hear me? I forbid it.

I don't know if I had ever seen Rory so angry before. He was breathing rapidly, His face was flushed and he still had a firm grip of Melody's wrist while his other hand was clenched in a fist at his side.

You  _forbid_ it? She said indignantly. I would suggest you remember to whom you're speaking.

She snatched her wrist out of his grip and stood to her full height, her hackles raised, her eyes flashing.

I am River Song. Only one man in this universe dares to tell me what to do,  _Rory_ , and even he does so very,  _very_ sparingly.

You don't speak to your father like that. I said. You mustn't.

It was as though I had lost my voice and suddenly found it. I stepped up beside Rory to present a united front. I took his hand in mine.

You will not use the word "must" with me. Either of you. You weren't there. Neither of you were ever, ever there! Well now I have a chance to be here, for you.

We don't want you to come back here. It's too dangerous.

My voice was shaking as I spoke and I could barely even see her through the tears. I saw enough though to glimpse the hurt on her face. I squeezed Rory's hand as I spoke and he immediately returned the gesture. I knew we agreed.

She's right. We'd rather you were out there somewhere happy and healthy with the Doctor than killing yourself by degrees just to see us.

We love you, baby, so very, very much. I added.

But we...we understand that we have to let you go now. Didn't see it coming, I admit. We love you, Melody. But we won't have you commit slow suicide for us.

Rory pawed at his eyes, brushing away tear after tear and I rested my head on his shoulder.

I tried to speak for him. For both of us.

Please, come and finish Thanksgiving with us. Let us give you your Christmas presents and some family pictures and lots of stuff to remember us by. We'll send everyone home and it'll just be the three of us, the family. But then you have to go. We'll be fine, Melody. We have each other. We'll miss you so terribly but we'll be ok. Don't worry about us. Now come on, let's be having you. That's our good girl.

My throat hurt, it felt raw and hot as I heard my own words echoing in the bathroom and in my head. A voice from within berated me. You can't let her go! It screamed. She's your only living child, she's something wonderful that you and Rory made. Something that thrived. She is magnificent and she's all the two of you will ever, ever have.

Another softer voice, more quiet and calm answered the first one.

And that is _why_ you have to let her go.

It sounded like your voice, Doctor, like yours and Rory's combined.

She looked back and forth at both of us, her eyes wide, frightened and hurt. Suddenly her features went hard and raising her hand she punched in a few coordinates on the vortex manipulator.

Mum. Dad. Piss off.

And then she was gone. Did she go to you, Doctor? God, I hope so. And I hope you didn't scold her. She's a good girl and she was only doing what she thought was right. But don't let her come back for us.

Rory and I did our best to compose ourselves before retuning to our friends. We didn't talk about it then, we've learned to put off the big things until the appropriate time to deal with them.

I supplied the excuse. Just a silly family squabble, Melody wasn't feeling well. She's having a lie down in our bedroom. But things were already uncomfortable. Rory sat down on the ottoman and I stood next to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He snaked his around my legs and we clasped hands, consoling each other as we always did. Sunny, Michael and the kids thanked us for dinner and made a hasty exit. Raphael took out his pad briefly, he finished his drink and then also bid us goodnight.

When they were gone, I sat on Rory's lap. I hugged him and we cried as we realized we'd never see our daughter again.

We want to write her a letter, Doctor, if that's ok. We hope you'll give it to her for us, we never really did get a chance to explain to her how much she was and is loved. There was always too much running, to much adventure, too much end of the world nonsense. Now there's nothing but time, quiet, contemplative time to hear all our wrongs shouted out to us like the repetitive tolling of a bell.

Sometimes late at night Doctor, all we can hear are our sins.

I think...you understand.

Take care of our baby as you always do and tell her, her old Mum and Dad love her very much and she is and always will be a very, very good girl.

You know what Rory said before we went to bed?

I thought eventually there might be some sort of maximum on loss. You know, a sort of cap. What a stupid, old fool I was.

But he's not stupid. I thought the same thing.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Amy and Rory

 

 

 

                                                                                       

                                                                                                   "Consolation" - Raphael Soyer


	33. December 8, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

8th of December 5252

Dear Mum and Dad,

I'm sorry for how I behaved on Thanksgiving.

In fact, I'm more than a little embarrassed. Afterwards, I sought out the Doctor, for solace, I suppose, and using language remarkably similar to Dad's, he forbade me from going back to see you.

It hurt so much when you both told me to leave and not come back. But I understand, after I thought about it, I understand.

But, I think you know that won't stop me.

Despite that fact, I am feeling properly chastened. I acted like a ridiculous teenager. Both of you just have this way of making me feel like...your child. I suppose that's because I am.

Mum, you're right, I never do quite stay long enough but there's a reason for that. After you both left, the Doctor asked me to travel with him. I agreed, whenever and wherever he wanted but on the one condition that it was not all the time. You see, I love him, more than just about anything, but I can't be with him all the time, I couldn't bear it. It's too much, he's too much. I would try and shoehorn myself into his life in every way imaginable. If I stayed I would never, ever leave.

It's the same way with both of you. When you told me you had a toothbrush for me, Mum, and pyjamas and a dressing gown I just started having all of these ridiculous fantasies. Staying with you, moving in, having you tuck me in at night and read me stories. I'm a grown woman for God sakes,  _several_ times over and still there's nothing I want more than to be with my parents. But I can't, I have to drop in, I have to pop by with all three of you and leave before the pull gets too strong.

I hope you understand and I hope you know how much I truly do love the both of you.

We'll never be a normal family, I understand that. Mum, you'll never sit me down and have some talk about heartbreak, Dad, you won't grab a shotgun and chase off some horny teenage boy. I'll never get to sit you down and just ask you about yourselves. Yes, of course I grew up with you but I wasn't always there and though we were good friends, I was never your best friend. That was Dad and of course the Doctor.

So, I do have some questions, if you wouldn't mind. Things I'd never have the courage to ask you face to face.

Did you want me? I know it must have been a shock to wake up in the middle of labor. I can understand if you didn't. We never got time to bond. You never felt me kick. You and Dad never planned for me or painted a nursery or picked out names. I wasn't there one moment, then I was and the next I was gone. I'd just like to know if after all that you still really wanted me.

What did they do to you at Demons Run? Was this, all this misery my fault? The Doctor told me that you and Dad split up for awhile. I never knew that and could scarcely imagine it. I feel so guilty. I know it's irrational but I do. I was raised, I was bred and created to be destructive and you and Dad were my first victims.

Did you hate me as Mels? God, when I think back on her...me, I cringe. I kept a diary then too but I can barely even read through it. I was so filled with hate, I was so angry, so angry at the Doctor who I'd never even met. So furious at how much you loved him. I wanted you to love me like that, with that intensity. You and Dad spent so much time bailing me out of trouble and jail, hiding me in your room when I snuck out of the detention centers, lecturing me on how and why I should be better. So much of your childhood spent parenting your child. It hardly seems fair, most likely because it wasn't. You didn't deserve what I did to you. You must have been so relieved when I'd just up and disappear.

Can you tell me...how would I have grown up? I don't usually indulge like this but I thought, maybe you and Dad might tell me what plans you did have for when you had children.

Would you mind if I went back to your house in London? You left the keys in the TARDIS and I thought it might be nice to see how and where you lived. I'll make sure Granddad is out. I can even bring you things, if you like, maybe your wedding album, some photos. I'm sure the Doctor would be willing to sonic an IPod or two for you. Maybe a taste of home. I travel rather light, don't really have a home per se but I have the Doctors room on the TARDIS and i'd like to have some mementos, nothing anyone will miss of course.

And finally...

Do you love the Doctor? Both of you? And you _know_ what I mean. He's a secretive blighter, but he's more open with me than anyone. Yet there are some aspects of his life with you both that he won't reveal. I was surprised to say the least, what I know I pieced together, no one told me. I'm sorry to have spit it at you both the way I did. Certain memories of the two of you he keeps locked up very, very tight. I thought no one in the world could possibly love the Doctor as much as I did, no one was more fated to be with him than me. Was I wrong?

I'll be back to see you of course. After the Doctor's rant he took the vortex manipulator and added a temporal buffer onto it when he thought I wasn't looking. He knew he couldn't stop me. It's safe now...alright it's _safer_.

He loves you both very much, you know. I know you may wish you could hear it from him and I wish the same thing. But here's a piece of information that might help. He traveled with you longer than anyone. Ten years he told me. For ten years he returned and returned and returned for his glorious Ponds. None of the other Doctor's companions can say that, not even me.

Mummy, Daddy, I love you so much and for you and you alone I try to do my best, be my best and be the good girl you think I am..

I'll see you at Christmas.

Love,

Your Melody

P.S. I included a special stamp with a homing beacon. Just drop it in a mailbox. It'll get to me.


	34. December 13 (1) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

13th of December 1943

Dearest Melody,

We didn't actually know how to start this letter. We were going to write you as well but your questions will really help frame our reply. Your Mum is going to take some of them and I'll take the others.

She's up first:

Hello, love.

Your Dad and I are going to try and hit these questions one at a time. The truth is we're really glad you asked.

First off, we want you to know you were conceived in love and joy, on our honeymoon, in a TARDIS bunk bed no less. You weren't exactly planned. Rory and I were so young then, as newly married as you could get and at that point, planning on traveling with the Doctor indefinitely. But plans and condoms get broken, don't they?

But Rory and I knew we wanted a family, we always knew, especially your Dad. I didn't have much confidence that I'd be a good mother but he had enough faith for both of us. We started discussing it right after he proposed and even though I was so nervous, and not even sure marriage was the right decision for us, I knew then any children I ever had would be Rory's. I just knew.

Like you said, he was my best friend, I trusted him with my life. I thought I was cool and unconventional enough that even if we ended up breaking the engagement, we could still be friends and still be together...loosely. Even then I knew I could never let him go, not completely. God, I just took him for granted, didn't I? Solid, dependable, Rory who'd always be there, even if I wasn't there for him in the way he needed. Anyway, I'm straying from my point which is that in one way or another we always wanted children together.

Which means we always wanted you, before we even knew there was a you to want.

A part of me, the Flesh me, knew something was up pretty early on. I ignored it and it was so easy to deny when day after day my body didn't change. I didn't feel weird, I didn't feel tired, but every so often I'd get rather queasy or later on I started getting sharp pains in my abdomen.

So you see you were wrong, I did feel you kicking.

Labor was hard, Thirteen hours of cramping and pushing and screaming. Atrophied muscles reluctantly coming to life. No idea where I was, no one to hold my hand, no Rory, no Doctor. Just me and you, struggling our way through.

And we made it didn't we? The two Pond girls, on our own we made it. They let me hold you for awhile, mostly just for nursing but other times I got to snuggle with you a bit, kiss you head, tickle your belly, feel how strong a grip your little hand had on my fingers. I so wanted Rory to be there! In those moments, just looking into your eyes, all I could think was my husband and I made this and she is perfect. She's the most wonderful, wondrous thing that's ever existed in this universe or beyond. It didn't matter, where you came from or how you got there, you were ours. You made me hear the hum and the sway and the laughter and the breath and the rhythm of the planets. Despite all the beautiful things the Doctor had ever shown me, seeing your face was the first time I heard the universe sing.

And that was why I named you Melody.

When your father came to save us, as I knew he would, I felt complete. The three of us. The Pond family, unbreakable. When they took you from me, when that flesh erupted in my arms, something shattered inside of me. I can't describe it and I hope, Melody, you never, ever know what that feels like.

Ok, please excuse the smudged ink...I was crying and didn't even know it. All these years later and it still makes me cry. I know you're ok, I knew you were then. When you told us who you were, when I saw that my baby would not just grow up healthy and strong but into a woman I admired and respected and wanted to be like, something in my brain reset.

I know, I may have been detached from you when you took us home. You must have waited so long. Biting your lip, stifling the words you wanted to say. Needing a kiss and cuddle from your old Mum and Dad so bad and for so long and we were so quiet, so blank, perhaps even cold. Crying for a stolen baby when the end result stood not a few feet away from us.

I'm sorry for that. I can't even say I'd handle it better now.

When you dropped us off at home Rory and I sunk into a pretty deep depression. Both of us like skydivers with tangled parachutes pulling the other one down. Rory pulled out of the death drop first, because he had to. My centurion protects me and he always will. I stayed in bed, I didn't eat, I lost 15 pounds. And I called the Doctor incessantly mostly just crying into his answer phone, while Rory held me, begging him for any news on you. I think some of my faith in him broke when he couldn't find you. We wanted our baby back so badly. All I wanted was to hold you in my arms again, to lay you between Rory and I on the bed and count your fingers and toes and then count them over again. To just watch how perfect you were. To make you laugh, to comfort you when you cried and to tell the world to make way for the superhero in training, Melody Pond. We missed you so much.

River Song softened the blow.

Mels softened the blow.

But nothing ever truly blunted it.

Even now, I still have dreams of the Doctor arriving on our doorstep, bundle in hand.

"Pond, she's crying." he'd say looking absolutely bewildered. "She's having an emotion, actually she's having several and I haven't the slightest idea what to do. That's why I've brought her to her parents."

I've accepted now,  _we_ accepted a long time ago that that was never going to happen. We chastised ourselves for being selfish and short-sided and in doing so learned the incredible peace that stems from gratitude. The gratitude of knowing you were alive and thriving.

We do still wish, sometimes, we'd gotten to raise our baby.

Which is not to say we're not immensely proud of you. We couldn't be more proud. Rory and I wish we could tell everyone about you. Our daughter, the only woman who could keep pace with the Doctor, if not exceed him. Savior of the universe a dozen times over. A legend and a hero, our wee, baby girl.

We love you Melody. We've loved you since before you existed. We were always waiting for you to come along.

That was the long answer to your question of did we want you.

The short answer is a resounding, emphatic, adoring and absolutely endless; Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Ok, sweetie, turning things back over to your Dad now.


	35. December 13 (2) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

Hello Sweetheart,

First off, your Mum is way too hard on herself.

Do you know how she and I met? There were these two bullies, Sam Butterworth and Norris Broaddrick...you'll have to forgive me, sometimes the double set of memories confuses me as to what you were there for and what you weren't. Anyways, Butterworth and Broaddrick were engaged in the important work of hog tying me in preparation to send me face first down the slide. I'd tried to fight them off but I just wasn't strong enough and I just laying there, struggling, face shoved into the dirt. Then out of the blue I saw this burst of red hair. Broaddrick went flying down on the ground to my right, Butterworth followed with a sort of 'Ooof!' sound. I watched their feet beat a path away from me being chased by loud voice with an unfamiliar accent.

They tie rubbish knots. She muttered, loosening me from the ropes. I was still on my stomach but she was making fast work of the bindings. Soon she rolled me over onto my back. I looked up and she was all in shadow, blocking the sun. She extended a hand to me and pulled me up to my feet.

She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I'm Amelia.

Hi...I'm Rory.

You want to be my friend?

Yes.

You shouldn't let people do that to you. You should stick up for yourself. I'll teach you.

We were both six and from that moment on, I loved her.

My point is, when a demanding, headstrong, bully-thrashing Scottish girl rescues you, you kinda know what you're in store for. I always knew marrying your Mum was the right thing to do but I understand Amy didn't and you know what, the longer you live the more you realize things like that are ok. You don't have to know everything when you're young, try and remember that, dear. In any case, I think Amy is right. If she'd broken the engagement, I would have been devastated and angry but I also would have waited. I committed to your mother that day, next to a slide. Her face took away the embarrassment, the tears, the humiliation and the stinging rope burns. She's all I've ever needed.

Ok, you wanted to know about Mels, crazy, wonderful Mels. Let's see, I met you not long after I met Amy. I remember even then thinking you were so similar, I thought it might cause some problems. But you guys became fast friends, didn't you? And you actually deferred to her and you never deferred to anyone did you?

Then again, when I think about it, you always listened to me a bit too, didn't you? God, you knew, it still blows my mind that you knew.

The stunts you pulled, remember when you set fire to the rubbish bin in the middle of lunch? Remember when you broke into the school and changed all the passwords on the computer? They suspended you and wouldn't let you back in until you told them. I missed you, Amy was distraught and I guessed that like everything else it probably had to do with the Doctor. I told them you'd told me the password because you were too embarassed to do it face to face. They let me fiddile around with it for a bit and eventually I got everything unlocked.

R*A*G*G*E*D*Y*D*O*C*T*O*R*I*S*H*O*T.

Really, Melody?

Only now when I see it written out do I realize that can be read two different ways.

Raggedy Doctor Is Hot.

Which is how I always took it.

But I see it could also be:

Raggedy Doctor I Shot.

I'd rather not delve too deeply into he timey-wimey-ness of that.

I remember when I told you, you could come back to school tomorrow and that I'd sorted it, you threw your arms around me and gave me a big hug. I remember, even then how nice that felt.

The other blokes used to tease me cause I only seemed to hang around with girls. As we got older they'd of course imply something lewd and I can't even  _begin_  to broach the many and multitude of layers with which that is wrong. But besides the obvious, no one ever got what we all saw in each other and that was ultimately their loss. At home it was just me and my Dad, your Granddad and we didn't always get along. For years I knew I wasn't what he expected and I slowly turned that around in my head to mean that I wasn't what he wanted. It's ok, we mended things between us, thankfully before Manhattan. But back then, you and Amy were my family.

I remember a conversation we had, camped out in Amy's room. I think she was downstairs getting nibbles and you and I had a moment to ourselves. We were talking about life after school and you, per usual, were saying you didn't care.

You have to care, Mels. This is a big deal, what kind of a future are you going to have?

All of time and space. Everythings out there, Rory, and life adds up to a whole lot more than finishing up at some shitty school in Leadworth. I'll probably go back one day. You know me, late bloomer.

Is that what you are?

So what about you and your plans for the future.

Well, you know what I've always said. Nursing school, maybe wind up being a doctor.

 _No!_ You, A doctor...!? Shocker!

Shut your face. You know, and then after that settling down and starting a family...

Anyone you had in mind?

Well...I...there might be someone.

Come off it, Rory. You know you're gonna marry, Amy! You're-gonna-marry-Amy! You're-gonna-marry-Amy!

Stop it! Stop sing-songing that, she'll hear you!

It had better be you. It has to be you...you're the best, Rory.

That was a rare moment of candor for you and I recall I looked at you curiously. A moment later you continued.

I suppose that's when everything changes.

What do you mean? Nothing will change. We're not going anywhere, Mels. You know nobody ever makes it out of Leadworth. And anytime you're on the run from the police you can stay with us. I mean if there is an us. If she wants me.

You really mean that? I could stay with you?

Of course, you're family. Whether she and I are together in that way or not, I think we knew we'd be looking after you anyways. Actually we rather like it.

You kind of teared up then and said,

Thanks, Rory.

You hugged me again, just sort of launched your body at me and I caught you in my arms. It felt just as nice as every other time but maybe a bit sadder, a bit more desperate. So I just hugged you tighter.

Crazy Mels. Funny Mels. Wonderful Mels. Silly Mels. Dangerous Mels. Mels who Amy and I spent many a night worrying about, wondering about. Scraping together money to bail you out. We worried about how angry you were. But we loved you. We loved you so much and it didn't matter, no matter how frustrated we got, how fed up we said we were we both always agreed that we couldn't leave our Mels alone, we never would.

No dear, we didn't hate you, we loved you. You worried us, you stressed us, I think you aged us but we loved you. You were our best mate who we felt the unstoppable need to shelter and protect and guide. It didn't make a lot of sense then but it makes sense now.

Hope that clears things up a bit. We loved Mels and we love you, Melody.

Oh, and let me clear something up for you, love, your father is always available to chase some horny bastard away with a shotgun including the Doctor if he gets a bit too grabby. You make sure he knows that.

Your Daddy loves you.

Passing you back to Mum, now.


	36. December 13 (3) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

OK. Demons Run. Why do I get all the hard questions?

I have these flashbacks sometimes. Even your father doesn't know this. I never told the Doctor either so it's the first time any of you are finding out. Mostly it's just feelings, a sensation of being trapped, my arms pinned, my legs bound. A voice, saccharine, mocking in its false encouragement.  _Mostly_  it's just flashbacks but sometimes it's full fledged memories.

Do you remember how I told you, as the Flesh, I'd see a panel open up and Madame Kovarian was just staring at me? Witnessing it as Flesh only lasted a moment. But in real time...it was hours. It was the horrible signal that they were coming for me again. I'd be slid out from that encapsulation and they all be surrounding me in this white, white room. There were Silents, Kovarian, and soldiers with their weapons aimed at me.

The first time it happened Kovarian told them,

If she moves, shoot her. We just need the child. A vegetable will work just as well as an incubator.

They did...horrible things. I spent a good deal of time with my legs in stirrups, helpless and exposed. Mostly I just remember the pain. But it's not all the time, the memories are scattered, fragmented, just as likely to come back to me as I sip some tea as they are in the middle of the night when Rory's working a late shift. Yes, sometimes I get scared but ultimately it doesn't matter, because I'm here with Rory and I'm safe and you're safe and well with the Doctor. We soldier on, like Ponds, like Williamses, like worthy companions of the Doctor.

Now, listen to me, all three of you, because Doctor, I'm assuming you're reading this too. This is none of your faults. Not a one of you could have done anything to prevent this. Doctor you couldn't have figured it out sooner. Rory you couldn't have come faster. Melody, as a fetus you were the most powerless of all. I won't have you blaming yourselves. Any of you.

Back to the question at hand and the answer to what did they do to me is, I don't really know.

When Rory and I went to the fertility clinic the ultrasound revealed "serious and deep layered scarring of the uterine wall." That's what the physician told us as we waited in that room to have our future read to us as blithely as football scores. I was sitting on the table, butcher paper crinkling beneath me, legs dangling. Rory was at my side, tightly gripping my hand in his.

It looks to be the result of a D&C...or rather  _multiple_ D&C's. But  _now_  you want children is that correct, Mrs. Williams?

He tsked before adding, ...chickens coming home to roost...

He muttered the last sentence under his breath. I was too shell shocked to speak but I was aware when I felt your Dad's hand slip from mine.

The next thing I knew he had that physician pinned to the wall, his forearm pressing heavily on the other man's windpipe.

What was that you said to my wife? A snide comment about chickens coming home to roost, was it? You think she  _earned_  this? You think  _any_  woman could possibly  _earn_  this?

Mr. Williams...

He was trying to choke out something, an apology maybe, but Rory wouldn't allow him to take in that much air.

On most occasions, your Dad, Melody, is the sweetest, kindest person I have ever known. He is gentle personified. But ever so rarely, even now, I get flashes of the Lone Centurion. Every so often I realize the strength and power and rage and love it would take for an auton without the ability to heal or repair himself to pass 2000 years undamaged.

And at that moment he was furious. He pressed his face close to the other mans and I only just made out what he hissed

Did you know that the Visigoths and the Franks used to scalp their victims? Of course all it took to _be_ one of their victims was to have the poor judgement to disrespect them or their family. They would slice into the persons skull while they were dying, but still very much alive, and peel the skin back like the rind of an orange. Can you imagine the sound, the screaming, the ripping, the blood?  _I_  don't have to imagine. I remember.

The physician whimpered and I recall weakly choking out your father's name.

I should take your head and mount it on my wall, but I think I'd rather have your medical license instead.

He released the other man who fell to the floor coughing and sputtering.

Rory walked over to where I sat and helped me to my feet putting a strong arm around me.

Let's go home.

You'll be brought up on charges for assault! The man wheezed.

Not a mark on you, mate. I'd like to see you try, though. Still room on my wall.

Your Dad escorted me out of the room and out of the building. And all at once he was back to the loving husband I knew.

We'll go somewhere else, Amy. He whispered to me. We'll get answers.

We went to multiple places with little results. They wanted reasons and answers for all the scarring, all that horrible, horrible damage and I had none to give. Eventually they diagnosed me with Asherman's Syndrome and assumed I'd had a botched abortion sometime in the past. The syndrome combined with the awful scarring did make one thing clear, I'd never be able to give Rory children. And that just about killed me.

I'm not telling you this to disturb you, Melody. I'm telling you because I need you to know there was one person and one person only responsible for what happened to me. Kovarian. Not you, never you. So please don't feel guilty.

Yes, your Dad and I did split up for awhile. He was so sweet about everything, so kind. We'll adopt, Amy, he said. But I just knew I'd failed him. Yet again. Amy Pond had let Rory Williams down, because that's what Amy does, that's all she ever does.

So, I started thinking about how much I was holding him back. How he was great, so wonderfully, impossibly great and he was going to be stuck in London with me, trying to make me happy until the day he died. I loved him for it. I loved every minute I'd ever spent with my Rory and that was why I thought the best thing to do is give him up. A life with me would only make him miserable. So I started planning by degrees to drive him out of my life. I was so mean, so cold to him and one day after months and months I just asked for a divorce and he was so fed up he agreed. I wanted to curl up and die. When he showed up at work to get me to sign the final papers I wanted to wrap my arms around him and take it all back. Tell him I was willing to work on us again. Try harder, be better. But I let him slip away.

Without your father, Melody, I am woefully incomplete.

Honestly, were it not for us getting kidnapped by the Daleks I don't know where we'd be. I was so glad to be back with your dad, I was so happy and I vowed I would never, ever let him go. That's why I let the Angel touch me because I'll never leave Rory again.

That's the story of Demons Run, and I hope, dear Melody, now that you know the truth you can let all of that guilt go.

Ok, back to Dad...and then we'll try to answer the question about the Doctor together. As best we can.


	37. December 13 (4) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

Your mum and I thought rather long and hard about what to ask for from home. It's strange, we're actually forgetting what we have or rather what we used to have. We would absolutely love our wedding album, actually all of our albums, especially the blue ones. Those are the ones that are secret, the ones with pictures from our travels with the Doctor. Look through anything you like, of course.

Amy's mum gave her a little perfume bottle and my Dad gave me a pocket watch when I graduated from nursing school, we wouldn't mind having those.

The funny thing is after being here for awhile now we've just learned to do without. Of course we miss our laptops and just the unbelievable access to information which we so took for granted but we've adjusted to the 40's. I do have to admit we'd love our iPods. But other than that, maybe some jeans a few t-shirts and jumpers, there aren't really lounging clothes in this era. Poor Amy has been struggling without her glasses. We went to the optometrist here but it's not the same. We ordered two pair right before we left the last time with the Doctor because I just knew she'd break or lose a set. I think we left them in the kitchen, next to the sink. Oh, and sunscreen, Amy just reminded me.

I wish you didn't have to avoid my Dad. I wish you could just walk right up and introduce yourself to him. We've been thinking a lot about our parents and friends and family, wondering where they must think we've gone, what's happened, and we can't come up with a convincing story. Someday Amy and I would like to sit down and write them letters, but not right now. We can't do it now.

You wanted to know how you would have grown up. Well, you would have had a nursery which as you grew we'd have converted into a more grown up bedroom. We'd read to you, we'd spend a lot of time telling you stories, a lot of stories from books, stories about the Doctor and stories your Mum made up. You'd have a love for learning and reading. We would have made sure you went to the best school and you had best believe you'd be going to university, missy. Alright...you wouldn't have to go if you _really_  didn't want to. I think you might assume I'd be the stricter parent but in truth I think it might be Amy. She can be quite the taskmaster. I'd probably call a lot of family meetings. My dad was fond of them and actually it was a good way to air grievances and fix problems. Amy was accustomed to family game nights and outings so you'd have to deal with your goofy parents taking you to movies and bowling and mini golf and amusement parks. Any boy who showed the slightest interest in you would have had to undergo a rigorous interrogation from yours truly, probably in full Centurion gear. We would have looked forward to watching you grow and mature, and to all the big days in your life. I would have looked forward to walking you down the aisle on your wedding day. Above all else I can tell you, you would have been loved and probably more than a bit spoiled. But the end result would be much the same as we see today, a loving, wonderful brilliant woman who her adoring parents take endless pride in.

You're welcome to anything you like from home, it's your home too.

Next up is the big question. The Doctor.

Your Mum and I will get back to you.

 


	38. December 15, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of December 1943

 **M**  
Whenever anyone would ask what our relationship was to the Doctor, we'd answer, it's complicated. So it was then and so it remains even now.

Rory already knows most if not all of this, I denied it for a long time but a part, at least a  _small_  part, of the reason I ran away with him is because I was attracted to him. In fact I hit on him pretty hard. First in my bedroom after the Weeping Angels and later in the TARDIS. I believe I said something to the effect of I was "not looking for something so permanent" and then I told him, "You are a bloke and you don't know it and here I am to help!"

Wow, that's more embarrassing to write than it is to remember. I thought I was playing things so cool.

He rebuffed me, of course, and that was when we went to pick up your Dad...who now suddenly wants the pen.

 **D**  
Yeah, may I just say, what the Doctor told me is that she _kissed_ him he didn't mention that she offered herself to him on her bed. On the night _before_ our wedding.

 **M**  
First off, Rory, it was nearly 20 years ago. Second, the Doctor lies and when he doesn't lie he _omits_. For the record, Melody, your Dad actually isn't angry right now, he's just taking the piss, we're past this.

Moving on, it was the Doctors idea to pick up your Dad to get us really and truly back together. And a combination of Venice, vampires and running helped make that happen.

But to some extent things were still kind of weird.

 **D**  
There was a psychic pollen incident. We all had to choose between two worlds, neither of which turned out to be real. That was the first time I "died" but also the first time I realized the Doctor and I were competing for your mother. Competing in what way, I'm not sure any of us really knew.

So, then I "died", again and was erased from the universe and Amy and the Doctor traveled alone for a bit.

 **M**  
Nothing happened. Then he was a Roman, then the Doctor rebooted the universe and then we got married and I half-jokingly offered to snog him in the bushes. Then we  _both_ ran away with him and the dynamic yet changed again.

 **D**  
A lot of the tension evaporated and the Doctor and I actually became friends. I started to trust him but even beyond that I started to like him. In fact, when he "died", when we had the funeral for him on the shores of Lake Silencio, when we buried him like a Norse warrior and the hero that he was, that was when I first realized how much I cared about him. I can't quite describe the relief I felt when we saw him in the cafe. Things got complicated again when Amy was taken, I started to doubt whether I was the one Amy still truly loved, I thought, at her darkest hour she was calling for him and not me. Despite all that, the Doctor and I bonded, mostly over age, the shared memories of 2000 years past and our love for your mother.

 **M**  
As it turns out, I wasn't calling for the Doctor, I was calling for your Dad. When you all rescued me, the Flesh me, the dynamic changed again. We were friends, but more intimate, over the course of a dozen adventures, amidst the fighting and the running and the secrets, I got to see how much they loved me, both of them. Everything that lead up to Demons Run and everything that followed just bonded us closer and closer and closer.

Before he dropped us off, before our last adventure together at that rubbish hotel there was an incident.

 **D**  
I don't think there's any reason to get into the details. It was a truncated experience, over before it began. We did what we did and he got a bit freaked out and embarrassed, then we did too and we all pulled back and that was sort of the end of it.

We went to the nightmare hotel and then he dropped us off with a new house and a new car and we didn't see him again for two years.

 **M**  
We felt guilty. We thought it was our fault. I especially thought I'd done something wrong, pushed him too far. We couldn't quite believe it when he showed up for Christmas, out of the blue, the best present ever. We brought him in and stuffed him like a goose. We'd even scoured the internet and come up with a recipe for an alcoholic Wine Gums drink. It tasted vile, so overly sweet it made my teeth hurt, but he loved it. We talked for what was apparently hours about where he'd been, why he hadn't come back to see us, why he hadn't trusted us with his secret. He apologized, he said he'd missed us terribly. All three of us were hurting so much from the absence of one another.

You can be with the Doctor, in the midst of one of the most exciting, fulfilling moments of your life and still feel so incredibly lonely, because you know, you just know, someday this all had to end. The Doctor is transitory because he's permanent, he's forever. He moves through your life and you sprint after him and it's like chasing the horizon, you'll never, ever catch up. On those rare, rare moment when he's within your grasp, you just want to reach out and touch him and pretend, just for awhile, that you can hold on.

 **D**  
We don't think you want details and frankly, we don't think you need them. The truth is what happened between the Doctor and your mother and I, is private and ultimately  _between us_. But we gave you as much information as we did because you wanted to know if what we had was real, a real and true affection for one another that went beyond friendship. The short answer to that is yes. The long answer..is really, really long. You also wanted to know if somehow we negated your destiny with the him. The answer is no, not at all and of course not. It's true, we love him, I speak for both of us when I say, he is the dearest friend we've ever had or will ever have. But our time with him is over, except through these letters and the lifeline that is you.

I think I've lived too long to believe in fate, Melody. But to answer your question in the language you posed it, we were fated to be with the Doctor in the way that we were, for as long as we were, and then the hourglass ran out.

He is ultimately yours, not because we give him to you, he isn't ours to give, but because you belong with him. You love one another in a way that is timeless. We miss him, we love him and we're happy with our memories and at peace with all of our choices. He's your husband, you're his wife and that is as it should be, never question your place with him, your place is at his side.

 **M**  
Did that answer everything? We hope so, your Dad and I worked hard on these letters but it was a labor of love. If you have anymore questions, please don't hesitate to ask. We're very happy to tell you anything you need or want to know. And you can always ask away at Christmas, we hope you're still coming.

Tell the Doctor we said hello, we love him and Happiest of Happy Christmases. We love you Melody, more than the wide, wide universe and what lies beyond it and we hope to see you very, very soon.

Love,

Mum and Dad


	39. December 21, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

21st of December 1943

Dear Doctor,

I know Amy has been writing to you for a while, well over a year and I thought I might give it a go myself.

It's nearly Christmas, the fifth Christmas we've spent in Manhattan. Edwin and Dorabella have confirmed plans to come and see us on holiday and we're looking forward to having the house filled with friends.

Something occurs to me, it's occurred to Amy too but when we discussed it, it upset her so much we ended the conversation.

If Melody can journey back using the vortex manipulator then so could you. That's not what we realized, we've known that since the first few days we were here. I know it's dangerous and I know it's not your favorite way to travel, but you've done it before. So, all Amy and I could come up with is that you don't want to.

But beyond that, you don't come to see us because you think of us as being dead. Seeing the tombstone, made it real for you not just in a timeline fashion but in your hearts. That's what really upset Amy, it shook me up a bit too.

If it matters, Doctor, if it eases your pain or I daresay your (completely unwarranted) guilt at all and if it means you might drop by and see us some surprising day, we are not dead. Amelia Pond-Williams and Rory Williams are very, very much alive.

I could tell you to sac-up, get over it and come visit...that's it's not just about you. I could tell you we no longer expect you to "save" us only to see us. I could tell you that other people, other hearts are involved besides yours, but I won't. I know what it's like to have to make up your mind to move on just so you can move on. But...we miss you. We told Melody that we were content with our memories, content with you no longer being in our lives.

But you tell children things to comfort them. The truth is, the specter of the loss of you always stalks us, and some days it overtakes us and makes all the empty places you once filled keen and ache with your absence.

In case one of us never said it, in case Melody never told you, this isn't your fault. None of this is your fault and we have never blamed you. Not once.

We love you always and think about you often. Take care of yourself.

Smile.  
Go and see something wonderful.  
Find a planet with snow and play in it.  
Take our daughter dancing.  
Remember us.

That's all, love. Happy Christmas from me and the wife.

Love,

Rory

P.S. We've got five years of gifts stacked up for you, you might want to come by and pick them up someday.


	40. December 24, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_Journal Entry for the 24th of December 1943_

It's Christmas Eve, 1943. I'm sitting in front of the fireplace with my husband. Our daughter is sleeping on the floor, her head resting in her father's lap. Rory is stroking her hair and she has the sweetest, most restful smile on her face. I am blissfully content. She surprised us today. Around 10AM several large packages arrived and Rory and I excitedly tore into them. Doctor, do you know how wonderful it is to see jeans and jumpers and t-shirts and trainers and comfortable underthings? Of course you don't, but it is. The next box was filled with an assortment of items, our iPods, our laptops, Rory's electric razor among other things and even a mini printer. Rory and I looked at each other mystified. At the time we mentioned it in the letter we were half joking, afterall what could we possibly do with technology nearly 80 years out? 

The clothes we can wear around the house of course. Rory began. As for the computers, I suppose we can open them time to time, to glance at pictures until the batteries runs out and...Amy...I'm on the Internet. How am I on the Internet? 

I opened mine as well and found I had a better connection here than I'd ever gotten in London.

Yeah, I've got the same thing. I told him and then suddenly a message popped up on my screen.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_   
_Here, as promised here the care packages. I'm sure you're wondering if giving you some of the creature comforts of home was a bit of a cruel joke on my part. It wasn't. Yes, you are connected to the Internet. Yes, your iPods will play. No, you don't need adapters or to ever have to worry about batteries running out. The answer to all your questions is: soniced. Now, the only caveat, of course is that all of these items must be kept safe and secret. You can never show them to anyone outside of the family. Ever. They're properly buffered, no visiting aliens or even Torchwood, once it comes along will be able to pick up any technological incongruity. I just thought a computer, instead of a typewriter and a little more information at your fingertips as well as some comforting movies might make life a little easier. You still haven't told us how you'd like the Doctor and I to handle your parents. It's all right, there's time. There's always time, I just wanted to warn you about accidentally contacting them by email. In fact, don't contact anybody, email is strictly off limits, at least for the time being. The Doctor can manufacture a story, an accident just to offer them some closure if that's what you'd like. Just think about it. I also included all the photo albums. Would you mind holding off looking at them until I get there which should be right about now-_

There was a sudden knock on the door and Rory and I leapt to our feet, abandoning our treasures to open it. And there she was, smiling at us tentatively.

I thought maybe I could spend the night. A proper Christmas Eve. I brought some Christmas biscuits. They're probably rubbish.

She actually sounded nervous, the poor dear. As if we'd send her away. As if we'd tell her no. Rory grabbed her up, lifting her off her feet saying, Get in here, you! We hugged her, Spartacus barked frantically as he circled around our feet and we started Christmas.

Rory had a mid shift, but we took the time to sit at the kitchen table and flip through some of the photo albums. But before that the first thing we did was find a place for our wedding picture in its sterling silver frame. I'd missed that picture so much.

The next picture was the framed one of the three of us, you, Rory and I, as the reception was winding down, sweaty, hair mussed exhausted and exhilarated from dancing and eating and just loving being alive. We all look so young and happy. I'm including a smaller copy of it in this journal, Doctor. I don't know that you'd be ready to take it from Melody if we asked her to pass it along. Maybe by the time you read this, you'll be a bit better.

We munched on biscuits and flipped through the albums, starting with childhood and moving forward. We told her so many stories we thought she might start getting bored with her old mum and dad prattling on but every time we went to stop she encouraged us to continue.

When it was time for Rory to go he kissed us both goodbye.

Now girls, no more looking at albums until I get back. I don't want to miss anything. He said with a grin. We, his girls, nodded and then we both stood in the doorway, arms around one another's waists, watching as Rory strode off to work.

He is an amazing man, Mother.

Of course he is, he's your Dad...come on, lets finish decorating.

That's how your wife and I spent the afternoon, Doctor. So very, very normal. Popping popcorn, drinking eggnog, adding ornaments to the tree, I let her hang the one we made for Adora, I hung the one we made for you and we saved the Christmas star for Rory. We talked about old times and new times and times yet to come. Oh, and you know what else she told me, Doctor? You actually have birthday! In fact it was quite recent, November 23 is it? You're a Sagittarius. So, Happy Belated birthday, old man, hope it was a good one.

She helped me prepare dinner, Rory came home and we happily made a big deal of greeting him at the door. He was all smiles and hugs and rosy cheeked and cold nosed. He'd stopped by and picked up a bouquet of flowers for both of us. His girls, he said again and how I could easily get hooked on hearing that. We ate, we clapped as he balanced on the ladder and put the star on top of the tree and then he put an arm around both of us and we watched the lights for a while. Melody made us hot chocolate and we all settled in front of the fire to listen to President Roosevelt's Christmas Eve address.

And that's where we are now Doctor, listening to music, White Christmas is playing at the moment, would you believe it's only two years old? Conversely I've been dying to watch It's A Wonderful Life but it doesn't come out for three more years. I guess with the laptops we can pull it up ourselves, now. Wizard. Rory's looking over my shoulder as I write this and he says to make sure I tell you Happy Christmas and that we love you. As if I'd forget.

Happy Christmas, Doctor.

We're a four person family, all the parts are here but one.

Your presents are under the tree and they'll be a place set for you come dinner time.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Amy, Rory, Melody and Spartacus The Legendary Chocolate Lab


	41. December 26th 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of December 1943

A year ago, Amy and I were barely speaking to one another. Today we had one of the best Christmases ever. I remember when we were little kids, Mels was always the first visitor on Christmas morning. She'd arrive at my house at some ridiculous hour, usually right after I finished opening presents. Then she'd take me by the hand, still in pajamas mind you, and we throw on our coats and run over to Amy's house, our favorite new toys in hand and we'd watch Amy open her presents. Come to think of it we spent most Christmases at Amy's and nearly all of them together. So this morning when she knocked on our bedroom door at an ungodly hour we were ready for her.

She called out, Mum, Dad, it's Christmas!

We pretended to be asleep but then after a moment threw back the covers to reveal we were fully dressed. She looked surprised and then she giggled like she did when she was Mels, like I imagine she would have had we gotten to raise her and experience these type of things properly. We leapt out of bed and I grabbed her by the hand saying 'Well, come on, those presents won't open themselves!' Amy at our heels all of us whooping as we sped out to tear open gifts under the tree.

It snowed last night. It was lovely and we all bundled up to take a walk with Spartacus before Edwin and Dorabella arrived. And oh the hugs and kisses when they did get here. Their car pulled up a little past eleven and Amy went dashing out of the flat and leapt into Professor Bracewell's arms. Melody and I stood at the window looking out.

I wonder if he has any idea how important he is to her?

No one really knows how valuable they are, Dad. No one, Not you or Mum not even the Doctor.

They embraced for a while. I heard someone, a neighbor call out, Is that your Dad, Amy?

No, he's my mate! She yelled back. One of my best mates.

When they finally broke apart she introduced herself to Dorabella as she wiped away tears and then lead them both to our flat.

It was good to meet the man himself. We hugged and I told him how pleased I was to finally shake hands with the person Amy spoke of so highly.

We gave them time to unpack and then settled in the living room for a chat. It was strange, we usually have to be so guarded with people. We have to remember our fabricated past, keep our dates straight and basically not let anything slip. But with Edwin we could speak freely, all of us. I think Amy and I were beaming with pride when we could finally and for what I realized was the first time ever, introduce Melody as our daughter. Imagine it, two time travelers, their daughter of indeterminate age who's also part Time Lord, an android and...what was Dorabella? It would be rude to ask of course, I'm making a note to myself to ask Amy later. Is she an android as well or a figment of a Dalek's imagination come to life, perhaps because as Amy would say, Edwin wished really hard.

What did it matter, we could all talk, honestly and openly about who we were, where we were and where we had come from. We exchanged more gifts, Amy, Dorabella and Melody went into the kitchen to chat and cook up some brunch while Edwin and I stayed in the family room.

She's so glad to see you.

Not half as glad as I am to see her. Why she hasn't aged a day since I saw her last and it's been fifteen years you say? And after all the two of you have been through.

Be sure to tell her that, she says I'm biased and can't be trusted.

Does your daughter live with you now?

No, she just dropped by for Christmas. We'd like it if she'd stay forever but she's got her own life to live.

Does she have a time machine as well?

Something like that.

You both seem happy. There were times I worried so for you.

We are. We're very happy. Sometimes I feel a little guilty given all that going on in the world.

Never regret being happy lad. Your poverty of joy would be no boon to anyone else.

I nodded. It was good advice.

I never wanted to probe too deeply with Amy, but I suppose I'm unclear as to why the Doctor can't come back.

I guess I think about it this way. Time is like a layer of ice on a pond. It's safe to skate over it once, twice maybe 400 or a 1000 times but eventually it starts to thin and fracture and break. New York is like that pond, that ice, except it's already so thin, so fractured he doesn't dare skate across it again lest it shatter taking this whole town with it. The needs of the many-

Outweigh the needs of the few.

Or the two.

There was silence for a moment. My sadly lacking metaphor had conjured up a ridiculous memory of the three of us skating on the ice planet Laras Moras. Or rather I was ice skating and spent most of my time holding Amy upright and trying not to let the Doctor fall. It made me smile just to think about it. Most memories of the three of us always made me smile.

So how goes the research? Edwin asked after a moment.

Well, it's gathering a pace. Finished my paper and am going to submit it come the new year. And you...how goes  _your_ research?

He regarded me, his eyes searching my face. He knew I knew. He knew I knew more than he did. It must be awkward, to sit before the soothsayer. It's how we all felt sitting before the Doctor. It's how the Doctor felt when at every turn he was confronted with "Spoilers." from Melody.

Would you tell me-

Wouldn't matter if I did. It will go on without you. It's too late to stop it now, mate.

So, it should be stopped? Does it do something good? Does it help?

He sounded desperate and I wanted to give him some sort of encouragement. I had been judging the character and the makeup of people for centuries. I knew a good man by his eyes, his bearing...Bracewell was a good man.

That's still something that's being debated when we left in 2023. It's a essay test question, it's a pub debate that ends in a fist fight. I don't know. Does any good ever come from a weapon?

If you'll pardon me...you speak like a man who hasn't seen the horrors of war.

I had to chuckle to myself. What could I do but smile at that?

Edwin, I speak as a man who has seen far, far too much of war and has no desire to see it again.

Dad? Melody called cautiously from the doorway to the kitchen. Is everything alright?

She was so protective.

Everythings fine, dear.

She came into the room and knelt down beside my chair, gazing up at me and I put my hand to her cheek.

You should tell me a story before I have to leave tonight. Tell us all a story.

Nobody wants to hear my stories, Melody. I chuckled.

Of course they do!

If you can manage that, Melody, you're a better woman than I am. Amy called from the kitchen. He's a tight lipped blighter. She added affectionately.

Maybe, one story, a short one, after dinner.

I watched our daughter look at Bracewell curiously and I knew in that instant she'd met him before. None of it had happened for him yet of course but it raised my spirits that Amy's efforts to get our letters to the Doctor might not be in vain.

We ate, we talked, we laughed. Sunny, Michael and the kids stopped by as well as Raphael and his brother.

The place setting to my right near the head of the table didn't go unnoticed as we settled ourselves down for Christmas dinner. It was identical to every other setting except for the slim blue ribbon that fastened the napkin around the silverware. And the fact that its chair remained empty.

Are you expecting someone? Sunny asked.

Always. Amy replied with a sad smile.

We can wait, of course. Raphael ventured. There's no rush.

No, no...it's for an absent family member. He'll be along, by and by.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. I saw Melody wipe away a tear, her mouth was set in a hard little line and I knew she was thinking about the Doctor, cursing him for what she perceived as the mess he'd made. I gave her a little chuck on the chin and was rewarded with a smile from both my girls.

No tears today. I said biting back a few of my own. It's Christmas. Michael, would you be so good as to say grace?

I'm not a religious man. I never was. Not really something my Dad ever instilled into me. Though I would get the occasional rap on the head for saying a few too many "Goddamn-it's", that seemed to be one of the only personal lines he drew. Amy and I are of one mind on the subject. We got married in a church but mostly just to appease her parents. I think, for some men, the longer you live the more you have to believe in God. For me, the longer I've walked this planet,  the less I even believed in the possibility much less the concept. But I do believe in gratitude. I believe in being thankful for what you have, for what you've been able to hold onto. I also believe I don't know everything. My entire life has been filled with people and places and events and fortuitous occurrences that I can't explain. So...spirituality is just another door I leave cracked, held ajar by a stopper that just says "Maybe'. And as Michael prayed for peace, joy, health and happiness for everyone assembled here and everyone everywhere I could do nothing but add an emphatic 'Amen'.

After dinner I played with the children. They'd gotten two toy swords for Christmas and I found myself giving them a bit of a fencing lesson.

Amy and Edwin talked quietly near the Christmas tree. I could see him becoming more fatherly towards her by the minute and I could also see how she needed that so. I watched him stroke her hair and tut her. I overheard him say how proud he was of her which was quickly followed by her distinctive sniffle. I was glad she had it, glad she had him. God...I missed my dad sometimes. When Amy and I left, he and I had just fallen into an easy rhythm. The years of awkwardness and misunderstandings and screening my calls and broken plans had finally been surmounted. We were getting on well and then it was over. I need to write him, to explain, but I can't find the words.

As Christmas drew to a close Melody again brought up the idea of me telling a story. Reluctantly I agreed and as I lit the fire Amy passed out eggnog. I sat in my chair and everyone looked at me expectantly.

You know, Amy's the storyteller she's-

I was cut off with a chorus of boos and affectionate cat calls.

Ok, I'll tell you a story, its a bit of a Christmas story, or rather a pre-Christmas story. It's about a time that the poet Catallus called "the best of days"...

When I finished they were all a bit silent. I'm not sure who started the round of applause but I blushed and begged them to stop.

Why, the detail...its almost as if you were there. Edwin said.

Amy got up from her place on the couch, sat in her lap and wrapped her arms around me.

Every time I think I know how amazing you are you always surprise me. She whispered. I always underestimate you, always. I love you, my Rory.

I love you, my Princess.

Slowly the night wound down. We bid goodnight and Happy Christmas to Sunny, Michael and the children. Edwin and Dorabella retired to their room leaving only Amy, Melody and I.

We know you have to go, don't you? I asked trying to hide how sad that made me. We never knew when she was coming back and oh how I tried to never replace "when" with "if".

I do, Dad. But you both have given me the best Christmas I have ever, ever had. The best.

We embraced her, holding on as hard as we could. Always as hard as we could. Crying together, tears of gratitude mixing with tears of sorrow. We kissed her cheeks as we slowly pulled away and I pulled Amy tightly against me.

Don't forget your presents. Amy reminded her. I packed them up for you, nice and portable for time travel.

Thanks, Mum. oh and before I forget...

Melody started searching through her bag and pulled out one last present.

It's after midnight, which means its the 26th which means. Happy Birthday, Dad.

I took the gift from her and laughed.

I totally forgot. It  _is_  my birthday! Thank you, Melody. Shall I open it now?

No, no...I can't handle anymore tears.

She raised her wrist and started inputting coordinates on the device.

Be careful and safe and come back soon, love. Amy said.

Please come back soon. I added. We love you.

We sure do.

I know and I love you too. And I will give the Doctor your love. Goodbye Mum. Goodbye Dad.

And then she was gone but at least it didn't sting quite as badly this time.

Amy and I cleaned up a bit, put out the fire and gazed at the tree.

Come on, birthday boy. Time for bed.

She took me by the hand and lead me to our room. We were little too self conscious about Edwin and Dorabella hearing us to do much more than kiss but I had no complaints.

So what did she get you, come on open your present. Amy prompted and I tore into the square package.

What I revealed was a picture in a silver frame, similar to the one that held our wedding photo. In the background were Amy, myself and Mels, all mid laugh on the school playground. We were wearing our coats and I could see the class Christmas tree through a window. We couldn't have been much more than eight years old and it looked like Mels had told some delightful joke that the three of us found hysterical. That alone would have made it a wonderful gift. But in the foreground...in the foreground was a familiar figure. Even though we could only see the back of his head, the frame, the hair, the tweed jacket made it fairly clear. The picture of us was taken from a distance and he was standing, watching us from behind a wire fence. The slender hand of the photographer rested comfortingly on his shoulders.

There was a message from Melody scrawled in the corner of the picture.

_I snapped this when he wasn't looking._

_He wanted to see you for Christmas in the only way he felt he could._

_Merry Christmas to you both and Happy Birthday, Dad._

_We love you._

I hugged Amy and we went to bed, tearful but happy.

Yeah...best Christmas ever.


	42. December 27, 1943

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I thought the story Rory told deserved it's own chapter and I also imagine Amy might be so charmed by it she'd need to write it down. So, this is a bit of a departure, but here we go.

**The Lonely Man**

_As told by Doctor Rory Williams_

_Transcribed by Amelia Pond-Williams_

Once upon a time there was a lonely man who was charged with a great and noble duty. There was a Princess, a lovely, red haired Princess who this lonely man loved more than anything else in the world. But he had hurt her, by accident and because of his weakness, she slept in a box and would continue to do so for 2000 until The Lonely Man had done his duty and earned her back again. So The Lonely Man guarded the box, day and night, year upon year upon year. And he grew still and he grew quiet and for hundreds of years he never spoke a word except in his mind, except to the Princess in the box. He told her he loved her, that he was always there, semper fidelis and she would be protected so long as he lived. And this lonely man would live forever.

It was the sounds that finally drew the man out. War and celebration can seem quite similar to the ear and both required further investigation. Hiding the box as best he could he emerged from the Underhenge to see firelight shining in the distance. But it was not the fire of war camps but the fire of joy and jubilation. He approached cautiously not to join their party but just to overhear them. It had been a long time since he heard another human voice and his sluggish mind tried to adjust to the sound. He still recognized the language, Latin, but it had changed, the subtle erosion and rebuilding of speech colored by slang, invaders, tourists, slaves, foreigners and time. He drew closer, how much time had passed. Had he been sleeping? Had he slept? The pull of the box, his love and fear for the Princess made him want to turn back. But a moment later a jolly drunken man had clapped an arm around him and was leading him through the packed thoroughfare, braying a story at him as though they were old friends.

The sites and the sounds captivated him. All around people were laughing and smiling, cavorting and eating. It was not the Rome he remembered. He tried to ask the man at his side what was happening. had there just been a victory in battle? Was there a new Caesar? But the man was too inebriated and too happy to care. The Lonely Man finally broke away from him and came face to face with a woman.

She was lovely. She had red hair like his Princess, she was pale and slim with keen, green eyes and a teasing smile. For a moment he wondered about lineage and reincarnation. For just a flash of a moment, he expected to hear his real name.

The Lonely Man decided to speak before she could.

What day is this? He asked. What is going on? Is this a festival?

She smiled broadly and he felt warm for the first time in ages.

It's Saturnalia! She said and then she looked at his aged armor and her eyes grew sad. Have you been away so long, sir?

Saturnalia. The Lonely Man searched his memory and while the name sparked something, it did not ignite a fire in him. At his blankness she took his arm and began walking with him.

She touched her little pointed hat proudly, a pileus it was called. Ah, he thought so she was a slave.

These are our days. Our best days where we sing and dance and laugh and eat. We wear the pileus. Our masters serve us! We can scream and shout and speak freely and act as though we were proper Romans.

She flirted and asked him his name. Ruaidhri. He responded and her eyes brightened. She liked the Gaelic turn of his name and before he knew it she was taking him by the arm again and leading him through the streets. His Celtic was sodden by years of disuse but she helped him through as he muddled through her Latin.

People walked by in bright clothes, the smell of sweets and charred meat filled the air, there were masks and merriment, animals and acrobats. Everywhere he looked The Lonely Man found something else to gaze at in wonder.

Coaihme was her name and she was spirited as she dragged him from one place to another. They ate and watched a puppet show, he had a sip of an ale so thick it nearly made him gag which prompted her to laugh. She sat down at a dice game and won a handful of coins and nuts.

She was a whirlwind but a familiar one. While she did not stir his heart, he did feel an almost immediate affection towards her. When she lead him down an alleyway he thought they were on their way to another part of the festival. Instead she gently pressed him to a wall.

Do you want me? she asked him.

I have a Princess. He responded. Whom I love more than the wide world.

She looked disappointed.

I would have scarcely charged you anything. She said.

Until that moment he hadn't known.

I like you. She continued. I think perhap I'd like to just be with you as though I were just a woman and you a man. There is something about you that reminds me of home.

She pressed her lips to his and he found himself returning the gesture before gently pushing her away.

The Lonely Man searched through the folds of his tunic and retrieved a few coins.

Are these still in circulation?

She laughed.

Of course!

Then allow me to be your escort for the evening. He said. I want nothing more than your company and your smile.

She looked delighted and took his arm again.

You are a funny soldier. Are you certain you don't want to-

My heart and body are hers, they always have been and ever shall. But tonight I am at your service, Lady Caoimhe.

And they left to explore the rest of the fair.

He would not touch her. He only allowed her to touch his arm or for his hand to grace her back as they navigated through a crowd. But she laughed so freely that at certain moments he found himself laughing as well.

As the night drew out he asked her, Is anyone expecting you? Shall I escort you home.

He had noted her yawning but she still seemed reluctant to leave. Again, he thought of his Princess and the similarities of those blessed with fiery hair.

Perhaps I should like to retire. But only on one condition.

I cannot come with you, Caoimhe.

She giggled softly and kissed his cheek.

Though I would very much like that, that was not what I was going to request, Ruaidhri. This is only the first of seven days of the celebration. Will you return for me tomorrow? Will your Princess mind?

He mulled it over in his head. He'd had no intention of even getting this close much less committing to returning. Which is why even he was surprised when he said, Yes.

He walked her home and upon arrival at her master's house he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. She beamed at him.

Until tomorrow. She said and then in a dash of lithe limbs and red hair she disappeared into the house.

The Lonely Man made his way back to the Underhenge and cooed soothing apologies to his Princess. He imagined they conversed sometimes and in that imagining he had expected he'd find her angry or worse yet silent. She was neither and he sat before her stone tomb and pretended she asked him about his evening and he told her of the party and the lights and the strange young woman he had met.

He returned for her the next night and the one after that, and the one after that and the one after that until they had spent five night together, enjoying each others company.

On the sixth night he asked her.

What happens when Saturnalia ends?

Life returns to normal, Ruaidhri. I remove my cap, I replace my clothes and I return to selling myself on the street.

The thought of it angered him so much he had to be wary of the fist he wanted to make lest he crush her small hand.

Were you ever free?

Oh yes, as a girl. A long time ago, it seems. I was captured and brought here. Sold to my lord Decimus. He has house slaves, field slaves and some women like me that he sets out at night. When we return we split whatever profit we have made with him.

Does he have plans to free you?

None that I know of. She said with a bitter laugh.

A thought occurred to him but before he could voice it she said.

Come, let's not talk about such things. It's a party. Our party. Let's pretend it's just for us.

And so he pretended.

As their evening drew to a close she grew sad.

Only one more night and then things return to how they were. Will I ever see you again?

You will see me tomorrow night, Caoimhe.

Pity this comes only once a year. She said and rested her head on his shoulder as he walked her home. He kissed her cheek and waited until she was inside to walk away.

He lived among corpses. He didn't like to think of it but it was true. The Underhenge was littered with bodies of soldiers he had once called friends. Not to mention the Daleks, Sontarans, Slitheen, Sycorax, Zygon, Cybermen...etc. etc. But he didn't allow his disgust to dissuade him from his plan.

He spoke to his Princess and told her, I think this is the right thing to do. In his mind he heard her agree. So he began rifling first through the pockets of his dead, plastic comrades. They all had some money but not nearly enough. Then he drew his weapon, the same weapon that had killed his Princess and he began to slice through the recognizable metal on the fallen aliens armor. Gold, silver, platinum and things not even remotely of this world. When he had gathered what he felt was enough to persuade and awe he set out.

The house of Praetorian Decimus was not the most impressive he had ever seen but he had certainly done well for himself. He typically walked Caoimhe to the rear of the house and this was his first view of the front. He begged audience with the master of the house and perhaps because of his armor and the fear of what things he might bring he was seen immediately. It was still the sixth night of the festival, only a few hours since he'd left Caoihme and The Lonely Man feared he might have awakened the house. But though it was indeed late, everyone was still up enjoying the festivities.

Hail Caesar! The Lonely Man said as he entered.

Hail Caesar! Do you  _come_ from Caesar?

No, my lord, I come only on my own behalf. I have a request of you great Praetorian. The Lonely Man found that flattery worked on the lowest and mightiest of men alike. A request I pray you honor in respect of the never abiding grace of Saturn and the abundance of his festival that we now celebrate.

Continue with your petition.

Thank you, your grace, You house a slave here, Caoimhe, is that correct?

It is.

I would to purchase her.

The Praetorian began to chuckle which The Lonely Man did not take as a good sign.

You are not the first so won over by her charms. Tell me, where did she win your heart? In the hay near where the pigs slop? Perhaps up against the wall in the back room at the pub? Yes, quite a  _lady_ is our dear, dear Caoimhe.

The Lonely Man bristled and his fingers twitched, itching for his sword.

In truth, sir, The Lonely Man began, starting his lie. She reminds me of my sister, a sister I lost some nine years back. Because of this remembrance and as an honor to my sister I wish to free this girl.

The Praetorian regarded him.

You've been too long at war. This is why you are besotted so easily. I would suggest you spend the next few months rutting with anything and everything that casts an eye towards you and then return here if you remember the way or Caoimhe's name.

He made to dismiss The Lonely Man but the latter stepped forward, finally dropping his parcel on the ground.

I am prepared to pay and pay handsomely.

She would be very expensive. Well out of reach for a common soldier.

The Lonely Man opened his bag and first removed the coins.

My initial offering.

He handed the coins to the Praetorian who took them greedily.

A good start.

The Lonely Man nodded and removed a solid bar of silver or rather something that resembled silver, taken from a Sontaran helmet.

And this my lord.

The mans eyes boggled as he took the bar and held it in his hands.

How came you by this? Did you steal it?

My methods are my own. But rest assured those to whom it belonged originally will not come looking for it.

He clearly wanted to see what else lay in the bag but his concern about their origins kept his avarice in check.

All this for Caoimhe?

For her alone, yes your grace.

There was a moment of silence between them until finally the Praetorian nodded.

She is yours.

The Lonely Man felt joy rise in his heart which hadn't happened for a very long time.

She sleeps now. Return tomorrow morning and claim her.

The Lonely Man nodded.

Hail Ceasar!

Hail Ceasar!

He exited and left for the town square to find silversmithe. The law forbade anyone save Rome herself from striking silver coins but greasing the wheels often got one around the law. He found a willing man with a crucible and for a hefty price bade him strike all the metal into coins of silver, bronze and gold. He waited there for the entire night as the man worked hard and at first light he set out, the coins still warm in his tunic towards the Praetorians house. He found her, sitting outside in tears.

Caoimhe, what's wrong?

They put me out. I don't know what I did, but this morning someone came, roused me from bed, bundled my things and put me to the street. They said to wait here. I don't know what's going to happen. Perhaps I'll be thrown into jail.

The Lonely Man placed his arm around her, helped her to her feet and started to lead her away.

I don't know why they didn't tell you properly. Caoihme, you're free.

She gazed up at him through her tangle of vibrant red.

What are you talking about?

I bought you. I hate to say it that way but I bought your freedom.

She looked at him disbelieving for a moment but upon realizing her centurion was never a man to lie, she brightened. Throwing her arms around him she squealed and the few people scattered about the sleepy dawnlit street turned to look at them.

I belong to you, now? She asked happily.

No, love. You don't belong to anyone. You are  _liberta._  You are  _saor._

It appeared to hit her in waves, the gravity of his words and knowing what little he did about women he opened his arms just in time to catch her as she fell against him, sobbing.

The Lonely Man walked her through town and put down a few coins to rent a room for them. He walked them up a few stone steps and into their room.

She looked around in surprise.

I thought you didn't-

I don't.

Do you want me to pay you back for-

The Lonely Man was horrified at the notion and felt foolish that he could not have predicted how his gesture might be misinterpreted.

No, I would  _never_... I just thought you could do with a rest.

Oh! She looked relieved and The Lonely Man felt similarly.

I'll rest, if you'll rest with me.

And so he did.

He lay on the rough mattress and she lay down next to him, pulling his arm about her.

Ruaidhri. She breathed as she snuggled against him

He tugged her close.

And The Lonely Man closed his eyes and pretended.

He didn't need to sleep. The Man in the Box had told him he  _wouldn't_ sleepbut the truth is though he didn't have to, he could.

They dozed for the majority of the day, awakening only when the sounds of the last night of Saturnalia rose to their window.

Wake up, love.

Out of instinct she turned her head up towards him and captured his mouth. For a moment, still coming out of his own sleep, he returned the gesture and a single word escaped his lips.

Amy.

Caoimhe pulled away from the man with a smile.

Ah, the name of the Princess, she said.

He apologized and moved slightly away from her.

They rose from the bed and went out to the streets. The Lonely Man and the free woman stuffed themselves with meat and sweets and laughed and played and danced and as the sun rose on a brand new day they prepared to say goodbye.

Caoimhe, I have something to give you. My conversions rates may be slightly off but I think this may be enough for you to begin a new life.

He handed her the small sack of coins and her eyes widened in surprise.

I cannot take your money, Ruaidhri.

You can and you will.

This is too much.

It's the least I can do.

And I can't go with you...because you love another?

I love another. Will you be alright? I can stay, help you get settled, escort you to another town.

You are the sweetest, strangest man I have ever met, you have saved my life and now you give me every coin you possess. No, I will be alright Ruaidhri. I can be on my own, I am a survivor as I expect you are. And if you stayed...it would just be harder to let you go.

The Lonely Man nodded. He understood that all too well.

Will _you_ be alright, my centurion?

I'll be fine. Now, you put on your pileus. You're a free woman of some wealth and let no one tell you differently.

He bowed deeply at the waist to her. When he stood the wind was breezing through her red hair and her eyes were shining with tears.

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly and he returned the gesture.

You will take care of yourself?

I have little choice. He said with a laugh.

I envy your Princess. I shall take one more kiss for you to remember me by and to wish you luck.

She pressed her body against his and he wrapped his arms around her waist and again he allowed himself to once more, pretend.

It's alright if you thought of her. She said with a smile. May the gods smile down upon you and bless whatever path you may take.

May your days bring peace, safety and joy, Caoimhe. I shall never forget you.

Nor I you.

She began to walk away, already set on a road that would take her away from this life and towards another.

Caoimhe. He called after her. Do you know, your name means beautiful?

She gave The Lonely Man one final smile before turning and walking away. She moved easily through the streets as merchants shuttered and cleaned up from the revelry of Saturnalia. He watched her as she blended into the rosy hue of sunrise. Then he gathered himself together and returned to his box and his Princess and his memories.

And he slumbered and dreamt of love and embraces to come and red, red hair.

 


	43. January 2, 1944

2nd of January 1944

My Dearest Amy,

I simply wanted to leave a note and attempt to express my gratitude and joy to you in a far more eloquent way that I did before we parted. Dorabella and I had the most wonderful time spending the Christmas holiday with you and your family. Your home is beautiful, your friends well chosen, your daughter a complement to her parents and your husband is a man of strength, character and wisdom. You surround yourself with only the best, my dear. And you make a most gracious and lovely hostess. I can't say when I've ever had a better time.

As the New Year dawns, I'm drawn back to think of all the choices I've made in my life, those both wise and foolish. Whether certain memories are fabricated or not at this point I have adopted them as my own. One of the best days of my life was meeting you and the Doctor and one of the best decisions was striking up a correspondence and a wonderful friendship with you, young Amy. I hope the clouds are parting. I hope the war will soon draw to a close...perhaps without needing the fruits of my labor. Without delving too far into things Rory seems particularly disturbed by my work. His foreknowledge, his warning, affected me more than I perhaps let on. In fact, its haunted me.

I feel there is a great deal more to his story than I can imagine. The tale he told was so very real. I almost felt as though I was there with him. He has...old eyes. Eyes far too old for such a young man. I wonder, will you tell me about him some time?

Enclosed is a picture of Dorabella and I at Niagara Falls. We made a small detour as it's something we've both always wanted to see! Did you know that seven years ago these powerful waters froze solid? People actually dared to walk across! Can you imagine, being able to say you walked across Niagara Falls? I wonder about all the things you've seen, Amy. You must write them down. You must share your stories with the world, even if they must be tagged under fiction. At least _we'll_ all know it's true.

Happiest of happy New Years to you and yours.

Love,  
Edwin


	44. January 7, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of January, 1944

Dear Doctor,

I haven't had much time to update because, drumroll please, I got a job! Yeah, a real one, a proper one but even better than that, it's a writing gig. I got picked up by a little newspaper here doing a weekly column and they let me call it Women On The Home Front just like I wanted. Sure no one will probably read it, but my persistence paid off. I'm going to take all those stories all the women have told me and I'm going to get them out there. I'm going to give them a voice! It feels important you know? It feels like I'm doing something. I'm only one column in, mind you so I'll try not to get too big for my britches. I decided to start with Sunny's story, how she's dealing with her husband being away and her brother being home, rationing, taking care of the kids, etc. None of it's easy for her, especially given some of Michael's mood swings. Post traumatic stress disorder isn't exactly something they acknowledge now, you know? I'd been nervous about her reading it but she loved what I did, which was an enormous relief.

I guess it kind of sparked the writing flames in me again in a different way. After Bracey and Rory and even Melody suggesting it over and over again and me starting and stopping and starting again myself, I've finally begun writing about you Doctor.

I hope you don't mind, but I've always felt we made a good fairytale. It starts off as a story about a little girl with an imaginary friend who no one believes is real, but she knows the truth. It's about the adventures she dreamed of having with him when she was little and the adventures they did have when she finally grew up.

I know people have written about you before. I've done plenty of internet searches of you, Mister. I know about the Journal of Impossible Things and that weird Who is Doctor Who? website. It's not exactly like you keep a low profile is it?

_When I was a little girl I had an imaginary friend, and when I grew up, he came back. He's called the Doctor. He comes from somewhere else. He's got a box called the TARDIS that's bigger on the inside and can travel anywhere in time and space. I ran away with him. And we've been running ever since._

How's that for an opening? Is it rubbish? Ugh...don't judge me yet. Let me keep going and then present you with something really good. Ok? I think it's best to just start with the night we first met. I'm thinking children might really like these stories. Maybe I could call it The Adventures of the Raggedy Doctor. Well, I've got time to decide.

I guess that's all for now. Not very exciting I know, but we could all do with a bit of peace and quiet.

Look after you.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy


	45. January 24, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of January 1944

I've been suffering with the flu for the past few weeks and I just can't seem to shake it. Honestly sometimes I think it's more mental than physical. Word about my paper got around the hospital and lets just say it wasn't well received. I'm growing more frustrated by the day. I've even taken to updating my CV, it might be time to make a move.

Move. I don't know if there's a word that strikes more fear in our hearts. One thing that remains unclear is what would happen should we leave Manhattan. Amy and I both agreed upon arrival and subsequent discussion that we wouldn't even attempt it. The Doctor's words were still fresh in our ears.

_"The Angels take Manhattan because they can, because they've never had a food source like this one. The city that never sleeps."_

I follow the papers and buried deep in the back pages are stories of people who've inexplicably gone missing. And it's not murder, or kidnapping or people simply running off. There are still stories one or two every month that amount to, I turned my back for one second and then he or she was gone. Gone, without a trace, no clues, nothing left. I believe the Angels  _still_ police Manhattan. I believe, in small clusters, that they always have. I have to assume that if we tried to leave they'd take us back even further. But that's not even my greatest fear. So long as I'm with her, let them take us back, 500 years or 1000, we can make it, I'll make certain of that. But if it were to be me alone, displaced, leaving her by herself here in 1944...I couldn't bear that. I couldn't bear her being alone and not having anyone to care for her. So we never leave Manhattan. We never cross a bridge and we swore that we never would.

But I may have to leave.

Not in search of a job or anything like that. There are rumors that the Procurement and Assignment Service is displeased. Not enough doctor's have been volunteering for armed service and I'm counted among them. I've been registered for the Selective Service and declared "available" but when asked, I declined a commission. It was nothing formal. The hospital and the board were averse to asking local physicians to serve lest they deprive the community of medical professionals and as a med student I had an automatic deferral anyways. I think I was asked rather casually at a Christmas party in 1941 and my official answer was, No thanks. But that was 1941, just a few weeks into the US's involvement in the war. Now some 3 years later and the situation is quite different.

As best I understand, if I leave Manhattan, I sign my own death warrant. I'm not afraid to die. Ok, I tell a lie, I  _am_ afraid to die but I'm more afraid of dying so far away from Amy. Seeing myself, at the Winter Quay, confined to that bed, living only for the moment when I'd get to see her again... I still have nightmares about that and I suspect I always will. I don't exist without her. I don't want to. And when I can put aside my own selfishness I realize I'm afraid of leaving her alone. She's smart and strong and wonderful and amazing and she remembered the world back into being, but she needs me. That's not vanity, because I need her too, just as badly. But if I'm not here...or even if the Doctor isn't here to pick up the pieces...I fear what might happen to her. What she'd do.

Just took my temperature, I'm running a fever of 101. I think I'm getting myself all worked up and it's doing no one any good. I'll try and sleep. I was feeling so much better earlier, I told Amy to go, she had interviews to conduct for her column. I'm so proud of her but I practically had to have her dragged away from me with a winch. I'd hate for her to come back and see me in worse shape than when she left.

Signing off for now.

**_Curators Note: The following appears to have been written some hours after the first journal entry. The handwriting was difficult to decipher. We suspect given preceding entries and those that follow, Dr. Williams was suffering from an extremely high fever. Nonetheless, it has been preserved as written._ **

Dear Doctor,

This is important. In fact it may be the most important letter I've ever written you. You made a promise to us...you're gonna keep it. You said you'd always look after us. Always.

Christ, I'm burning up...but listen. I don't care about paradexes...doxes. I don't care if it obliterates New York, if they send me or I die or get lost to time you have to come back for her. I dead...died so many times. So many, manymany times and it was always alright because you were there to look after her.

I'm not giving you permission, I'm givin you an order. You get yr arse back here. If something happens to me, you come back for her. Or you send MelodyRiver back to get her. Don't you even think for a moment, for one bloody second of leaving her here by herself.

God...she loves you and I love you too and the two of you could be enuf...enoughh for each other. It doesn't hasto...have to be...it wouldn't be like before because there's Melody but you could fix things. I no.. know you could.

Am I making sense right now? I think I might be a little sic-sick but you listen to me anyways.

Amy...I hear Amy.

sometimes...I thunk...thinkk I heer the TARDIS.

Dnt. Don't tell her...


	46. January 25, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

25th of January 1944

Dear Doctor,

Currently going on hour 15 in hospital with many more ahead. I got home and found Rory delirious. Half in and out of bed, pale and sweaty and not even remotely coherent. Spartacus was frantic when I walked in the door and now I know why. He lead me right to him.

I helped him back into bed, he was so hot to the touch and he kept grabbing at my arm saying, He'll come for you. It's ok, Amy. It's ok. He'll come for you. He promised.

He was out of his head and I can only assume he was trying to comfort the 7 year old version on me.

I called for an ambulance and I talked to him the whole time until they got there. He lost consciousness as they were putting him on the stretcher and I started screaming at him to wake up. I think they thought I was mad but I didn't care, plus it just made them act a bit nicer and be more reluctant to piss me off. No one upset the crazy lady!

I've seen him like that too many times, Doctor. Did I ever tell you after he almost died because of the Siren I started watching him sleep? I felt crackers in those days, worrying about him, worrying about you, trying to split my panic evenly between you. I just couldn't bear to see him with his eyes closed and so damn still.

They got him to hospital and a chest x-ray showed he had double pneumonia which means he was keeping from me just how sick he was. That doesn't develop overnight. Either that or he's dabbling in self delusion which I think we agreed upon in the marriage vows was strictly _my_ milieu. No matter what, it means I can't exactly trust him to tell me the truth. An ugly habit he picked up from you, Doctor? That whole chicken and the egg thing you're so fond of?

_I need you to trust me, Amy. You don't always tell me the truth. If I told you the truth I wouldn't need you to trust me._

And round and round we go...

I'm sorry Doctor. I'm not really cross with you or with him either. My nerves are frayed. I'm upset. His fever was so high and his breathing so compromised that if I hadn't come home when I did maybe...

He was writing in his journal. It had fallen to the floor and I picked it up. I didn't read it, mostly because I was afraid for his life at that moment, too afraid to snoop. But also I respect his privacy. I wouldn't want him to read some of the things I've written in here. The only words I did see were, Dear Doctor. So he writes to you too. I think that's good.

I'm sitting at his bed now, holding his hand with one of my own and writing to you with the other. Is it strange that his wheezing is comforting? It's slow and steady and at least it means he's breathing. He's on serious antibiotics but they said he's going to be ok. That he just needs time to recover and they can attest he's been working really, really hard. He does so much for me, for us...

Doctor, you and I both saw the gravestone. I know, when Rory dies. While I know time can be rewritten, I still know that as it stands now, he lives to be 82. I never saw mine. Maybe I die tomorrow or five years from now. Can you promise me something, Doctor? Can you promise you won't leave him alone, if something were to happen to me. You and Melody are the two most clever people in the universe. You could figure something out. I could be ok if I just knew that no matter what, he'd be ok.

You know how you can watch someone sleep and they look so small and vulnerable and sweet and young. That's how he looks right now. He had the flu once when we were about 10. He had to stay home from school for a whole week. Each day at lunch I'd run to his house to watch cartoons with him. And each day after school I'd come right back and bring his homework. I even offered to do it for him but he said, No, Amy, you'll just do it wrong and then they'll know. So we'd sit there and talk and watch TV. Sometimes we'd still play Raggedy Doctor (I was relentless wasn't I?). My poor Raggedy Man would be sick and I was the only one in the whole wide universe who could cure him. The method usually changed but once, brave boy that he was, Rory suggested that maybe a kiss would cure him. I looked at him pretty skeptically.

That only works in girly stories. I said.

This is a girly story. Plus I'm the Doctor so if I say it'll work, it'll work.

He convinced me. Plus I wasn't going to let something as silly as a little flu make me not kiss him. So I did. He didn't get better, (well he, Rory, didn't but of course the Doctor was magically well again) but he did get a big smile on his face. After that he went to sleep and I sat by his bed and watched him. I just didn't trust anybody to look after him as well as I could. I made sure he drank his water and I reminded him that he should get up and pee, which embarrassed him but I didn't care. I took his temperature time and time again and I think I tucked him into bed so tight he could barely move.

He's still that same, sweet little boy, Doctor. He's my best friend. He needs me to take care of him. Failing that, he needs you.

I'm sorry. I haven't slept. But I mean what I'm saying. Rory's stirring so I'm going to stop writing and just curl up next to him.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love Amy and Rory


	47. February 14, 1944

14th of February 1944

Dear Bracey,

Rory came down with the flu, then double pneumonia and the poor thing wound up in the hospital for a week. What a way to begin the New Year, eh? He's getting his bearings back though. Counting his time in hospital he's been on antibiotics for some 20 days now. His chest still hurts, he's been too tired to go back to work and he's still got a terrible cough. But circumstances aside, I really like having him home. We spend all day in jeans and t-shirts just enjoying one another's company and talking about the future.

I think I've become more of an introvert these past few years. Just an almost middle aged lady who'd rather cuddle up with her husband and watch series after series of Breaking Bad on Netflix than go out and party 40's style. I realize some of those words don't make any sense to you right now but don't worry about it.

We both read the newspaper everyday, usually first thing in an effort to get it out of the way. One of the headlines today read: STIMSON URGES U.S. TO END PESSIMISM; War Secretary Tells Chronic Viewers-With-Alarm to 'Keep Your Shirt On' which sounds surprisingly and condescendingly like, Get confident, stupid! The war  _is_  alarming and no one who thinks so is an alarmist. Stimson was specifically referring to Italy and I suppose that caught my eye because it's where Sunny's husband is currently stationed. Anzio, I believe. He's been there since January and it sounds like it's getting worse by the day. What, I wonder, are you hearing on your end? Or are you so busy with your work that you don't even really have time to keep up on the day to day?

I know what you're working on Bracey. Rory told me after Christmas. I don't have any judgement on it, how could I? I just have to switch my thought processes back and forth sometimes. What I mean is, sometimes I look at what's happening, like what's in the paper today, as urgent and present and the hear and now. Other times I look at it as history.

I'm not a Time Lord. The Doctor once told me that he could see all of time and space and that some events, events like his death (I'll tell you about that doozy later) or or what's happening now or Rory's and my presence here can't be changed. Time could recycle itself and happen over and over and over again and large scale events will still occur. Vesuvius will still erupt, 9/11 will still happen. And much smaller scale things like Rory and I will still winding up in 1939 can't be undone either. Which leads me to believe this war will end the way it's going to end. Nothing can alter that. Goodness if it was that easy, one of us should have just shot Hitler when he was in the cupboard. I'll tell you about that one later, too.

Sometimes I get all Invictus, you know, I'm the master of my fate and captain of my soul. And sometimes I take comfort in the fact that we're all pushed along and about by time. Most days I just end up somewhere in the middle.

Take care, Bracey,

Rory and I send you our love.

P.S. I just looked up to belatedly add the date to my letter and noticed It's Valentine's Day! I hadn't even realized. With all the craziness of the past few weeks it slipped my mind. I hope you remembered to get something for Dorabella. I suppose Rory is off the hook this year!

P.P.S. Someone just knocked on the door and Rory asked me to answer it. Now here I sit holding a big bouquet of roses, my favorite salted caramels and with the sound of a slightly tone deaf singing-telegram man's rendition of "It Had To Be You" ringing in my ears. He remembered after all. I'm a lucky girl.

 


	48. February 20, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Doctor Rory Arthur Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of February 1944

The packages started arriving a little past New Years. Mostly sweets, pies, cookies, the occasional cake. I shuddered at the amount of sugar rations wasted. Usually there were just two names on the small little card, mine and the name of a young man. I'd heard about draft board bribery before but I never expected I'd experience it. Yet at least twice a week, Amy and I started to find new items on the walk up addressed to me.

The worst was the money. It killed me to imagine them scraping together their few resources to stuff in an envelope for me. I wouldn't dream of keeping any of it, not so much as a cookie, in fact it made me sick to have it in the house. So, before I fell ill, Amy and I discussed what we should do. We decided that it would make sense to return the pastries and baked goods and money, family by family, house by house. It was awkward at first, really awkward. They didn't expect to see us on their doorsteps with the incriminating packages in hand. At first they denied that they'd done it, but we slowly eased them into the fact that we weren't angry, we weren't upset and we certainly weren't going to report them to anyone. After that they usually invited us in.

Even though they made Amy and I feel so welcome, we felt like intruders. In a way, we were, we had no real stake in any of this…at least not yet. We were a couple of "swells" so far removed from the everyday drudgery of 1944 that they could barely relate to us. Or so they thought. My Amy, my sweet wonderful Amy who always found the words when I didn't. Amy, who charmed them and comforted them, put them at ease as she gently encouraged that they enjoy the various deserts themselves. Amy who found a way to slip the money back into their hands without causing offense.

I made them no promises. I couldn't. But I told them I would do my best. I told them I took my position on the draft board seriously and the last thing I would do is send someone off to war with a malady that made them unable to fight. By the end of the visit we weren't Doctor and Mrs. Rory Williams from 5th Avenue, we were two people with slightly strange accents who were "from the neighborhood". We had to do this at night, quietly, lest we be found out. It would be bad for us and bad for the families in question. We try to hit at least two or three houses each trip and every time we asked that the family not pass around the idea that…well that I was for sale. Amy simply said, "Tell people he's a good and honest man and he doesn't need any encouragement to be one."

They just wanted to keep their sons safe. That was all. And they'd heard that it never hurt to make nice with the person who might be in charge of sending them off. I didn't blame any of them and I probably would have done the same thing if I were in their place. But it was exhausting for me and for Amy and bless if she didn't keep going on the visits herself when I was sick. This on top of her writing, her interviewing, her babysitting and waiting on me hand and foot.

Makes me feel even guiltier for having frightened her the way I did. I think maybe she thought I was hiding the pneumonia from her but I swear I wasn't. I really didn't feel it coming on. They always say doctors make the worst patients. Apparently they also don't make very  _bright_ patients.

I'm doing much better at the moment, probably going to return to work in the next few days. It has been nice being a lazy cat, lounging about the house with Amy. But all good things…etc. etc. etc.

I skimmed my last journal entry to the Doctor. I must have been off my head, I could barely read it. I hope Amy didn't. She hasn't acted as though she's seen it. If I didn't still wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment I'd tear it out and toss it into the fire. But I meant it then just as I do now. I pulled out my laptop and scanned the timeline for this year. There's going to be a concerted ramp up in the war and draft effort. The idea of "doctors draft" is tossed around but never really implemented. At least not  _officially_.

I believe that's how it's going to happen. Coercion. Pressure. And the next thing I know  _I'll_ be before the draft board. I'm trying to prepare myself which really means trying to prepare for how to tell Amy. On the very slim chance I'm wrong I'm keeping it to myself for now. All I can do is wait.

 


	49. March 15, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of March 1944

Dear Doctor,

Yesterday Rory and I attended a funeral. Sunny's husband, who I know you heard me mention, died. He was killed on the beach at Anzio. She is absolutely distraught. I can't imagine what that would be like...except I guess I can. But I feel awful comparing our situations because even though I lost Rory, I got him back. Each and every time I've gotten him back. I've been spending the last week with her. Helping her take care of the children, make arrangements, greet all the people wanting to express their condolences and just give her time to rest.

Sometimes I feel I took on too much. Three months into writing the column and while its going very, very well it's wearing on me. The stories are always so sad, or maybe I'm just seeing them that way lately. Rory had said he couldn't make it, he couldn't get out of work and I understood but as we were standing at the gravesite for burial I felt a hand slip into mine and there he was.

He's been kind of distracted lately. I'll ask him a question and it takes him a good thirty seconds to reply. I'm sure you know what's going on but I can't exactly blame you for not telling me this time, can I? It's so hard not to snoop. Not to just pick up his journal or search his browser history.

Sunny and the kids came back home with us. It's not good for them to be alone and we've got the space. Her brother Michael declined. I think this all brings back too many memories of his time in the service. I was playing with the kids this evening, Rory and Sunny had volunteered to tidy up, when I heard something crash in the kitchen. I jumped and ran to check on them and saw a glass shattered on the floor. Sunny was crying and Rory was holding her tightly against him. He was cradling her head against his chest, his eyes closed doing his best to soothe her.

I looked at them Doctor, and I frowned. No, not because he was embracing her but because...I don't know how to put it into words. Some writer I am, I know.

Do you know that scene in Romeo and Juliet where she's looking down at him after he's just left her bedroom? She has this horrible vision that she's seeing him dead.

Oh God, I have an ill-divining soul.  
Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low  
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

For a moment I saw myself, crying in the kitchen, except he isn't there to hold me.

No one is there.

Why am I thinking these things, Doctor? Why are my thoughts so haunted?

I try to think of what you told me when we went on that excursion to the factory. I told you about the woman in the wall who kept peering in at me. You said it, It's a time memory, like a mirage. Nothing to worry about.

Maybe this is a time memory. There's only so many times you can stand weeping over your husband's corpse before it starts to sink into your psyche, right?

Of course the problem is you knew precisely what the Flesh was, what I was and you were lying to me. Maybe there's no such thing as time memory.

I suppose I should just breathe, hmm?

Rory ended up scooping Sunny up and putting her to bed with a mild sedative.

I took care of the kids, tried to calm them down and we all turned in early. I couldn't really sleep but Rory was exhausted and nodded right off.

I stayed up, I'm up now as I write this in bed just looking at him. He looks so restful but still I have to suppress my urge to shake him awake just to have him look at me and smile.

Oh God.

I have an ill-divining soul.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy.

 


	50. March 26, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as much to keep it straight in your head as in mine. If they were to be 34 in 1939 that means Amy and Rory would have to have their birth dates retconned back to 1905, Amy, November 20th and Rory, December 26th. This makes Rory too young to have fought in WW1 (Melody Ret-conning of course) but still old enough to have participated in other military incursions in the years between WWI and WW2.
> 
> Ok, so here it is. One of the major tipping points of the story. I've been hinting and leading since early '42 and here we go.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Arthur Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of March 1944

I'm dashing this off rather quickly as Amy gets ready for our night out. Despite all the troubles and stress and pain of recent weeks we've tried to keep up our tradition of date night. If there's one thing we've learned from nearly 20 years of marriage it's that we have to, no matter what, take time to just be a couple.

And now, I'm not sure when we'll have that time again.

It wasn't until I was packing my things to leave the draft board for the day that I knew what was happening. I had heard Judge Merrit was in town. He and Doctor Welling were old friends so when I saw him arrive I didn't think much of it.

Jacket on and bag in hand is when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned round and came face to face with His Honor Judge Morris Merrit.

Doctor Williams?

Yes, sir.

Judge Merrit. Can I have a moment of your time?

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

He smiled and lead me back to one of the dusty offices adjacent to the gymnasium. I sized him up. He was corrupt, I knew that much, I'm pretty sure everyone did. More than willing to take a bribe to grease the wheels. He had an obsequious, fawning nature which made him immediately untrustworthy. I think it's safe to say I disliked him from the start.

Once inside he gestured for me to sit down and I did so.

Coffee?

No, thank you, sir.

Tea? He asked the slightest hint of condescension in his voice.

No, but again thank you, sir.

Are you a limey, Doctor?

I bristled but held my tongue.

No, I'm an American. My parents were ex-pats from a small town in the U.K. called Leadworth. They never lost the accent and I picked it up.

Never did understand where the term limey came from, it's just what we called you fellows.

The Royal Navy put lime juice in the daily rations of their sailors weak beer in order to prevent scurvy. I suppose Americans soldiers at the time found that to be alien and funny. Though not the ones who developed scurvy, I imagine.

He scowled at me but I held his eyes innocently. I was tired and irritable and suspicious and he was goading my inner smart ass.

You're wealthy, you currently reside in a spacious apartment on 5th avenue. Lot's of savvy investments.

Is  _that_  in my file?

No. I learned that simply by asking around.

I see. I didn't realize I was so interesting.

He switched course abruptly.

I'm not sure how abreast you keep yourself up on what's happening in the war, Doctor Williams.

I try to stay informed. The last I heard was about the Fosse Ardeatine massacre.

He looked at me strangely. Perhaps I had spoken too soon. Was it too early for that information to be available to the public? I tried to cover.

I have a Ham radio, I pick up a lot of international news and I also speak a little Italian.

Yes, of course. I wanted to ask you a few questions and get myself re-acquainted with your file.

I didn't know you were previously acquainted with it, sir. May I ask why? I queried even though I already knew.

Call it idle curiosity. He gave me a rather anemic smile which I did my best to return.

He opened the manilla folder on his desk and began thumbing through it starting at the beginning.

Do you like your job, Doctor?

At the hospital, yes. I like my job very much.

And here?

Honestly? No, not at all.

And why is that?

I have no great affinity for sending scared boys off to die.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with the air of someone who felt honor bound to educate a fool.

I served in the First Great War. I volunteered. Saw my friends get their heads blown clean off on the fields of France by the fucking Jerry's. Made Captain by the time it was all over with 180 men under my command.

I suppressed a sigh. I had risen to the rank of  _Legatus Legionis_ and commanded a legion of 6000 men, but I had no desire to get into a pissing contest with this insect.

I remained silent and he returned to looking at my file. Frowning he peered closer.

It says here you served in '27, mostly in China as part of the forces to protect American interests during the Shanghai riots. Why didn't I see this in your file before? He mused.

Melody. A bit of retconning for dear old Dad. I imagine there must be a good reason for her doing so. Thank you, love.

Yes, sir. I answered.

Awarded the Distinguished Service Cross in 1932. None of this was in your file when I looked earlier, someone's head is gonna roll. He muttered mostly to himself before continuing. Promoted to the rank of  _Major_. He sounded damn near incredulous and I had to suppress a smile.

Yes, sir.

Well...it looks like I should be saluting you. He said through gritted teeth.

His whole demeanor change. At first he was just irritated by me, now he truly despised me.

Not necessary.

Why didn't you ever mention this before?

I didn't see how it was relevant. I did my service, I returned home and I wanted to pursue a civilian life.

Yes...well, sir, as it stands I assume you grasp the shortage of medical professionals we're experiencing in the Army at the moment.

I had heard, yes.

But when you were offered a commission, you refused.

I did. I was planning to enter medical school which allowed me an automatic deferment and I felt I could be of more use here. Polio is-

That's not really your call to make, if you'll pardon me, sir.

I could see his stomach turning each time he had to address me as sir. I was rather enjoying it. But over all this grating on me. I wanted to get back to my wife and these scare tactics were wasting my time. I didn't really see how I could make things any worse than they already were. The wheels were in motion any fool could see that. I stood up suddenly and it took him by surprise.

Captain, I think we both know why you called me here. You mean for me to take up my commision or effectively be press ganged back into service. I can't refuse that but I won't play at words with you. I won't have you waste my time or question my priorities.

He narrowed his eyes at me and something within me snapped.

On your feet, Captain!

His instinct took over and he scrambled to his feet.

When you address me you will do so with respect, is that clear?

Yes, sir, Major.

Is there anything else?

One thing, sir. I don't think there's any reason to put this in the mail, do you sir?

I already knew what it was when he handed it to me.

No, I don't believe there is.

I left the office without another word.

I didn't bother to open the envelope until I was walking home.

_From: The President of the United States_

_Order To Report For Induction,_

_To: Rory Arthur Williams_

_Order: 9701_

_GREETING:_

_Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service therein. You will therefore report to your local board named above at 7:15 AM on April 5th 1944._

I knew the rest. It was all too familiar.

So, I was going then.

One way or another.

I'm taking Amy out tonight for dinner and dancing. I'm not sure when or how I'll tell her.

I have 11 days.


	51. March 27, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of March 1944

Dear Doctor,

Rory was an absolute prince tonight so I was immediately suspicious. Not as if he's not always nice and wonderful but he and I have a banter, we tease each other, we joke around. You remember. It's how we do Amy and Rory, it's who we are. But he was so sweet tonight, so indulging, so wonderful. He took me to dinner at The Stork Club and I don't know how many times he needed to kiss me across the table. Not that I minded. A lavish meal and desert and in between that he kept asking me to dance, over and over again, but only the slow songs.

And then when we got home he was a bit amorous. What am I saying, amorous, Doctor this is  _you_ I'm talking to. He was horny, we haven't shagged like that in awhile. Dress hiked, knickers pushed to the side, up against the wall in the kitchen next to the grocery list. Then again, later on after we'd had second dessert, in bed but this time was softer, more sensual. It wasn't playful, it wasn't a shag, in fact it was really, really intense. As I held him in my arms when we'd finished, both of us panting, I asked him to tell me what was wrong. Instead he kissed me and said, I need a shower Amy. Just a few moments to myself and then I'll tell you.

So here I sit on the bed, a little after midnight, waiting to hear the water stop running while dreading it at the same time.

_1:45 AM_

He's going. I just...can't.

_6:22 AM_

Dear Doctor,

I couldn't write anymore last night. After he told me, I dissolved into tears then I started to hyperventilate and then I threw up. I write all this as though I'm better now. I'm not. My head aches, my throat is raw, my eyes are swollen. Rory is sleeping uneasily by my side. He has dark circles under his eyes and maybe, for the first time ever, I think he looks his age. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I do too. The lines around our eyes are standing out, the forehead wrinkles, the slight valleys around our mouths. Stress has given us both a whole new face. I feel old, Doctor.

He kept saying, We don't know, Amy. We don't know what any of this really means. We don't even know if you can get sent back by the Angels twice. Really, I've been thinking, the Doctor said the Angels send you back and feed off potential energy,  _time_ energy. They already got us, we don't have anything left for them to feed off of. Maybe we're dead batteries.

But we're still stuck here. I said. I never told you this. But our first few months here when we drove past the Manhattan bridge, when we didn't even come _near_ to crossing it, I felt so sick, Rory, I broke out into this cold sweat and I started shaking. I felt like I was going to die, I just knew if we went over, we'd die.

He swallowed.

I know, I remember. I felt it too. But I was never sure if it was just my nerves or-

It was real. That wasn't nerves. That was real.

We don't know that. He'd said suddenly. We just don't know.

So what are our options? I'd send you to Canada, to go stay with Bracey. You could come back in '45 when this is all over.

Still the same problem of getting out. Plus...I've never run from battle, Amy. I don't think I could live with myself if I dodged the draft.

I looked at him like he was absolutely mad.

Fuck the draft!  _I_  can't live without  _you_. This is the past, Rory, it's all over. Sixty million people die. From start to finish, _sixty million_ and nothing can stop it. Making it sixty million and one won't solve anything.

Amy, I would never run for Canada because I would never leave you.

You  _are_ leaving me.

Be fair, I have no choice. If I don't show up they will have MP's here to drag me off. They will take me, no matter what, they will take me. Now look, I have reason to believe this might all actually work. Melody added some things to my file. Military service from WWI, she made me a Major. Why would she do that? It wasn't there before. She's trying to put me into a better situation, somehow. Baby, I'm scared too. I'm terrified but I have to believe we'll come through this.

You don't believe in fate.

No. I believe in our daughter and I believe in the Doctor.

Bugger the Doctor. What's he got to do with this?

And I believe in us.

What if I went with you?

What you mean, dress like a soldier and hop on the bus with me? He laughed mirthlessly.

No, what if I follow the bus in the car. So that way, if something happens, it'll happen to both of us together. All I have to do is blink.

He grabbed me by the shoulders then, his eyes serious and dark.

Amy, I have never, ever forbid you to do anything, but I absolutely forbid you from doing that. I won't have you commit suicide for me. Tell me you won't do that. Promise me!

He gave me a shake and my teeth rattled. Rory had never put his hands on me before.

I won't...I won't do it. I promise.

He'd relaxed then.

Alright. Thank you. Sorry I shook you like that. Are you ok?

Fine. I'm fine. You're on edge, I understand.

Now, will you just trust me. Trust that things will work out ok.

Do you have to go to work today? Please say you'll stay home with me.

I'll call in sick. He whispered pulling me against him in bed. Tomorrow I'll go in and collect my things, take my leave of absence. We're going to spend the next 11 days together, ok. You and me. No calls, no trips, we won't even answer the door. Just you and me, Amy.

Just as it should be.

We settled down in bed and I lay against him taking comfort in his heartbeat. Eventually something switched over inside of me and I brought him into  _my_ arms. I started thinking about how truly scared he must be. How sad, and frightened and tired. He needed my comfort, my reassurance, even if I wasn't confident in the slightest.

We'll be ok, love. It will all work out. My brave, brave boy. My husband. My Rory. You're right, everything will be fine. I trust you. I trust us.

I cooed this to him over and over, stroking his hair, holding him to my breasts until he fell asleep. I have to be strong for him. The way he's always strong for me.

This would be a great time for you to show up, Doctor. You love being the hero. You love a zero hour rescue. Well here it is. Here's your moment.

I'm waiting.

I'm always waiting.

I'm going to try and sleep now, next to my husband, while I can.

Something just occurred to me, Doctor.

The Angels are making me count down, aren't they? Again. For fun.

11...

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy and Rory.

 


	52. April 1, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**1st of April 1944**

Dear Doctor,

Five days from now, if all goes well, I'll be on a bus heading to Pine Camp in Jefferson County, New York for training and assignment. I'll be joining the 5th Armored Division and from there shipping out to the UK. Then I imagine it's on to Utah Beach. I'm scared. But you already knew that.

Amy is handling things well, very well actually. So well I'm worried that she's keeping it all bottled up.

The Doctor came to Amy at her loneliest, when Rory was gone, when she was most afraid. He comforted her and he took her back into the TARDIS. And he loved her to the end of her days.

See what I did there? If you read it, it becomes fact, right? That's what you said. That's what Amy told me you said. It means if something happens to me either leaving Manhattan or on the coasts of France or at any time, you will come for her because you just read what I wrote. You will figure out something and you will save her. I just created a fixed point, so you must.

I'm not sure, but this could theoretically be the last time I get to write to you. I don't think it will be but I won't sacrifice my final moment with you to my hubris or arrogance.

I love you, Doctor. Second to Amy, you're my best friend. I know we didn't exactly get along in the beginning. I was so jealous of you. I think a part of me hated you. That was, of course, before we got to know one another. I want you to know I cherished every moment we spent together. Every adventure, every journey, everything you ever showed us. Knowing that we might have to someday choose between, as we called it, Real Life and Doctor Life, tore me apart. How on earth could anybody ever let you go? I suppose this was the way the Universe decided for us. We would have stayed with you forever, we always said we'd decide later. Some other day. I just can't imagine that day coming.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Christmas. It was lovely. Truly lovely and I'm sorry we three didn't get the chance to have that again. I hope you don't regret it, we never did.

I suppose, most importantly, we know you love us. We know you looked after us and took care of us. We know you picked us out of everyone else in this world or the next and according to Melody you came back for us more than anyone. You saved our lives, you saved our engagement, you saved our marriage. You gave me back the woman I loved every time I thought she was lost forever. Even this last time.

Thank you for letting her go. I know it must have been incredibly hard. I know that maybe even in that last moment you tried to convince her to stay. Yeah, I can imagine your face as you're reading this. I may not know your name but I know  _you_. It's ok, you're emotional  _and_  pragmatic, you knew I was lost but it didn't have to mean she should be lost too. No, Amy didn't tell me any of this and maybe I'm woefully off base. If I am, I'm sorry. But if I'm not, just know that I understand. The point is, you  _did_ let her go. You could have grabbed her and forced her bodily back into the TARDIS but you didn't. You let her come back to me. You gave her up and believe me, I know that giving Amy up is just about the hardest thing anyone could do. So thank you. Thank you so very much. I wouldn't trade these last few years with her for anything.

Well...I guess that's all. There's so much to say but I'm writing this while Amy finishes up her article and I don't want her to catch me with red, teary eyes. I think my real, true goodbye to you would be as long as War and Peace so best to cut it off here, don't you think? I think this speaks for itself. I think our lives speak for themselves. Who knows maybe everything will be fine and when I'm an old man of 80 and I've forgotten I even wrote this to you I'll pen another long, goodbye letter. Fingers crossed, eh?

Maybe you'll hear from me again. I think you will. I  _hope_ you will. But in case you don't, know that you were unreservedly loved and I have absolutely no regrets.

Take care of my wife.  
Take care of my daughter.  
Take care of yourself.  
All three of you are the people most dear to me in the world.

Just in case...this is me, saying goodbye.

Always,  
Your Beaky  
Your Roman  
Your Rory


	53. April 3, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

3rd of April 1944

Dear Doctor,

I haven't written to Bracey. I think I'll just wait until this is all over, I really wouldn't know what to say and by the time the letters reached him...

The last few days with Rory have been wonderful and sometimes, for brief moments, he's made me laugh or love so hard that I've forgotten he's leaving.

I haven't been able to force myself to eat much this week. Just the thought of it makes me feel ill. I've done a lot more pushing food around on my plate than putting it in my mouth. Which probably explains why, by my estimate, I've lost half a stone since he told me. But we've been mostly bumming around the house in t-shirts and jeans so it's hard to tell.

Neither of us are really discussing it. It's as if we have a silent agreement not to and I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I don't think I can do this without him, Doctor. It's too much. Too much to ask of anybody. I'm just not strong enough. You and Rory always gave me more credit than I deserved. I've been dissecting this over and over and over in my head and came to the conclusion that I could live, I could manage if he goes to war. It wouldn't be easy but I have such faith in him. He's so smart and strong and brave and if anyone could make it he could. What I can't bear is if he just blinks out of existence. I can't bear it if he's there one minute and gone the next, no warning and no one here to remember or mourn him except me.

After he put me to bed a few nights ago I woke up about an hour later to find he wasn't there. I immediately started crying, thinking I had missed him leaving. As if I could have slept through his departure. But somehow I really thought I had. He heard me of course and came sprinting back into the room. Sitting on the bed he pulled me into his arms and started to apologize.

I woke up and you were gone. I thought-

I'm sorry, Amy. I couldn't sleep and I had something I needed to do.

I looked down at the bed and noticed he had brought a few sheets of paper in along with a pen. He'd probably just jumped up with whatever he'd been holding. Scrawled across the top of one of the pages I saw the words, My Dearest Amy.

What's that? I asked.

He quickly gathered the papers up and put them behind him on the bed.

It's nothing. Just something I'm writing. Something I need to do. Come here, let's lay down together, it's nothing that can't be finished later.

Is he writing me a goodbye letter, Doctor? Of course he is.

Sorry for not having written you more. But I feel every moment away from Rory is a moment wasted. I want to be with him until the end.

2...

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Us.


	54. April 5, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of April 1944

Amy,

I hope you listened to what I said to you before I left. According to Google Maps the trip from Manhattan to Fort Drum (that's what Pine Camp will be called in about 14 years.) is nearly 550 km. In 2023 they recommend allowing for at least a 5 1/2 hour trip so I can't quite imagine what it will be in 1944. But in any case, darling, I need you to be the Girl Who Waited for me at least one last time. We're scheduled to make a stop in Poughkeepsie, essentially to stretch our legs and pick up a few more men along the way. That's going to take at least 2 hours. Before you panic, before you give me up as lost. Just wait. Wait for me, Amy. The longer I think about this the more I have to believe our story doesn't end here. It just doesn't, not you and me. We still have so much left to do. I will get off that bus and I will find a pay phone and I will call you.

Wait for me, Amy. Please wait for me.

-Love always,

Rory

I've attached another letter for you. Don't read it unless you have to. Give me 8 hours, ok, we should be at Pine Camp by then. If you haven't heard from me in 8 hours then open this. I love you, Amy.

* * *

 

My Dearest Amy,

If you're reading this I am so, so sorry. Please know and believe the last thing I ever wanted to do was to leave you.

I feel I need to apologize to you because I'm the one who got us into this mess in the first place.

People looking in from the outside always got the wrong idea about you and me. They thought you lead me around by the nose while you kept my knackers in your purse. They never gave you the credit you deserved. I was no prize in those early days. Too scared to tell you how I felt. Perpetually nervous, always ineffectual and forgettable. I wasn't the kind of man you needed, and you loved me despite all that.

People never saw how we took care of each other. They never saw how we respected and loved each other. Everything I ever did for you was because you deserved it and more. You deserved so much more Amy. And I should have protected you. I got swept along on the adventure and the excitement and the wonder just like you did. Maybe I was the one who should have been saying no. Maybe I was the one who should have put his foot down. In the beginning, I think I was so use to grounding you but as we got older, as our marriage got stronger, that was less and less necessary. You would have hated me in the moment, but we'd still be safe. We'd be in London. We'd be home.

Those 2000 years I spent without you were the hardest of my life, but in a way, I think I needed them. I needed them to mold me into the man you deserved. Strong, confident, and someone who could always protect you. Except I didn't. Amy, I'm so accustomed, even now, universe reboot or not to having my senses work for me. Never, not on one battlefield was I ever surprised or taken off guard. Never. And in the end an Angel gets me because I was mesmerized by "someone with the same name as me." on a gravestone. Idiot. You don't know how many times I've relieved that moment. No, that's stupid, of course you do. My point is only that I let you down in those last few moments and you deserved better. I am so sorry.

I have reason to believe that I made it possible for the Doctor to come back for you. I'm not a scholar when it comes to paradoxes or the rules of time but I think we had a great tool here right at our fingertips that we never thought to use. Maybe it's for the best. But Amy, he loves you, almost as much as I do. Almost. You mustn't despair, my love, because I know he won't leave you alone. I asked you to wait for me, and you did and I will be forever thankful. Now I ask that you wait for him.

My dear Amy, you are and remain the best thing that has ever happened to me. No wonder, no sight, no magic the Doctor ever showed me could compare to waking up and finding you in my arms. You are my true north. You are the light that kept me going and beckoned me home.

I don't know how to say goodbye to you, Amy. I don't know how to say goodbye to your smile or your laugh or the way you steal bacon off my plate or your procrastination or the silly faces you make or the way you step up behind me and wrap your arms around me and every problem I thought I had fades away. How do I say goodbye to someone who's entwined into every fiber of my life and being. I love you so much and I need for you to be ok. I need you to go on, I need you to embrace what this strange life still has in store for you. If you want to spend every moment travelling with the Doctor then you should. If you just want to settle down in London then you should do that. I think you should stay with the Doctor though, he can help you through grieving and he more, than anyone else can make you smile again. I don't know what's after this life Amy, if anything, but if there is a heaven, I will be waiting at the gates for you. I would have waited 10,000 years for you. I'll wait forever.

Please take your time. Take the long road. I'm not going anywhere and maybe we'll finally end up in a place where no one can separate us ever, ever again. I love you, Amy. I love you. I love you. I love you. I look over this letter and it seems so sadly inadequate to express how much you mean to me.

I'm at your side right now, watching you sleep. You look no older than 20. You're breathing in and out so softly. I'm counting your eyelashes. I'm counting your freckles. I'm counting all the ways to say I love you in every language I know.

I'll always be here, Amy. Always at your side. I'll never let you go.

Close your eyes and you'll feel me.

Just close your eyes.

I love you. I have loved you. I will always, always love you.

Love,

Your husband, Rory.


	55. April 5th 1944 (Amy 1)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of April 1944

Dear Doctor,

Please send Melody so that she may say goodbye to her Dad.

Thank you.

Love across the stars, 

The Pond Family

 


	56. April 5, 1944 9:45 AM (Amy 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I assume River always, always knows more than she lets on. And something about that final scene in ATM always struck me.
> 
> AMY: The Angel, would it send me back to the same time? To him?  
> DOCTOR: I don't know. Nobody knows.  
> AMY: But it's my best shot, yeah?  
> DOCTOR: No!  
> RIVER: Doctor, shut up. Yes. Yes, it is.
> 
> Out of the three of them she's the only one who's sure. She knows it's the only way Amy will ever see Rory again because she's always known. She always knew it would end this way and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It has a beautiful, tragic, cyclical quality, the same as the Doctor knowing that for River all roads lead to the Library.
> 
> "Yes. Yes, it is."
> 
> So sure. So desperate. So insistent. My own headcanon states that she may not have known when it was going to happen or even how but she knew.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

5th of April 1944

_9:45 AM_

Dear Doctor,

I'm laying in bed by the phone with Melody at my side, waiting for it to ring and as the minutes tick by I'm expecting it less and less. Thank you for sending her, by the way. I'd never seen Rory in uniform before, except his Centurion one. He looked so handsome and even in my distress I felt a surge of pride every time someone walked past him and saluted. My Rory. I stood watching him at a distance, organizing, directing, even comforting other young soldiers.

Out of nowhere a hand slipped into mine and I looked to my right and saw Melody.

Hello Mum. She said with a small smile.

I threw my arms around her neck and bit my lip to stop from crying.

You came. He sent you.

I got a letter in Stormcage with a map reference and a date in a TARDIS blue envelope. Of course I came. Mum, what's going on?

I pulled back and looked into her face.

This is early for you isn't it? Have we done Christmas together?

She looked at me blankly.

Adora? Letters to me and your Dad?

I'm sorry, Mum. I really don't know what's going on. Why are you here?

Oh Doctor, the confusion in her eyes. Another dagger to the heart.

I put my hand to her face.

It's alright, baby. You don't have to understand. I just wanted you here so you could tell your Dad goodbye.

Where is he going?

I didn't answer her. What could I say?

We were surrounded by our same scene repeated over and over again. A teary woman clutching at a man in uniform, unwilling and unable to let go.

I motioned Rory over and he was finally able to break away.

Look who's here. I said gesturing to our daughter.

His face lit up as he gave Melody a kiss on the forehead.

It's so good to see you. Come to see me off?

Of course. She said and I noticed the tremble of her chin. Don't you look smart in uniform, Dad.

That's what I said. I replied.

Rory smiled, looking bashful and he reminded me of the silly boy he was back in school.

My girls, always so complimentary.

The men around us were slowly separating from their families. Throwing their bags onto the bus and climbing aboard. Rory looked over his shoulder and I saw the tension in his face.

I don't understand. Melody said suddenly again.

She's young. This isn't the Melody from Christmas. I'm not sure how early this is for her. I said softly to Rory and he nodded in reply.

He pulled her to him to comfort her like he had me so many time.

Don't worry, dear. I'm going to be alright. You just take care of your Mum until I get back, ok. Stop in and see her from time to time. She's going to need you.

He kissed her curly head and she nodded like a good girl and brushed away a few tears. She looked shellshocked.

And you. He said turning to me.

I don't know how to do this. I said. I don't know how to say goodbye to you. We stepped away from Melody and I finally broke down against his chest.

I'm even more convinced now that everything will be ok, Amy. Melody's here.

I wrote in my diary for the Doctor to get her to come, it doesn't mean anything.

It's ok. It means more than you know.

His words didn't sync with the tears welling in his eyes.

You're lying.

I'm not. I'd never never lie to you not ever. Take this. He said shoving an envelope into my hand.

Is this your goodbye?

Someone called from near the bus as its engine rumbled to life.

Major Williams, it's nearly time to go, sir.

On my way. He answered. No, Amy, this is my goodbye.

He took both of my hands and held them in his, drawing them up against his heart.

I love you, Amy. I've always loved you since the first day I saw you. What I need from you is to trust me, just give me some time. It's going to take at least 6 hours or so to get there. We'll probably stop halfway through and I will call you. I promise. I will call you. If not then, allowing for check in and assignments and all the bullshit formalities I should be settled in in about 8 hours. Give me 8 hours. You'll hear from me. Take the letter. Open it when you get home ok. I love you so much.

He kissed me, tenderly all the while holding me so tight I couldn't move. Still I wanted him to hold me tighter.

He let me go and pressed our foreheads together.

There's never been anyone else for me. Only you.

I love you, Rory. I'm sorry. Oh God, I should have written you something too!

But he only smiled and shushed me.

I know. I already know. You don't have to say a word. I've got to go now.

No.

It's ok, Amy. I promise you, it's ok.

He held out his hand for Melody's and she hurried over quickly.

Daddy loves you. He said and gave her a final kiss on the cheek before putting her hand in mine. Take care of your Mum for me.

He affixed his cap and his lips touched mine for the last time.

Goodbye, my love. He said softly.

I watched as my husband turned and walked away from us. He stepped onto the bus and gave us one last smile before disappearing inside. As he pulled away Melody and I wrapped our arms around each other, I couldn't bear to watch it get smaller and disappear out of sight.

Mother, did Dad drive? She asked after a moment.

I nodded.

Give me the keys. I'll get us home.

Most of what happened next was a blur. We got home. My daughter helped me off with my coat and I mechanically changed into a pair of sweats. I vagueley remember her taking the envelope from my hand and asking me if I wanted her to read it aloud.

Is this catatonia? I wondered. But I nodded at her to go ahead.

I listened. It was much what he'd said to me before he'd left.

There's more, Mum. He says, If you haven't heard from him in 8 hours to open this second envelope.

I nodded.

I know I can't ask you what's going on. I know there's probably massive spoilers in the works here. But I can still be here for you, Mum.

I nodded. It seemed that was about all I could do now, nod.

Will you come and lie down with me. I asked. I want to write in my diary and there's a phone in our bedroom.

Of course.

So, here we are, laying on our bed. Melody behind me, close and comforting.

I'm writing to you, Doctor, because it's the only thing that's keeping me sane right now.

He's not going to call is he?

8 hours will be 4:30 in the afternoon.

Of course he's long been out of Manhattan by now, so I may be hoping against hope for something that's already happened.

It's just after 10:30 in the morning now which means we're past the 2 hour mark.

I feel numb. Am I a widow, Doctor? I suppose only time will tell.

Love across the stars,

-Amy, Rory and Melody


	57. April 5, 1944 1:30 PM (River)

_Curators Historical Footnote: The following correspondence was sent via an archaic method of subversive communication known as "Underlay". Underlay involves one layer of text being hidden beneath another layer. Doctor Song contacted the Doctor using Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams' diary. The page upon which the former wrote would appear blank to the latter allowing for the clandestine transmission of said message to the Doctor._

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Time Delayed**   
**Personal Correspondence: From River Song/Melody Pond to The Doctor**   
**Status: Prisoner**

**Stormcage Designation: 25764389210023**

5th of April 1944

_1:30 PM_

Dear Doctor,

I appreciate the ambush, sweetie. I'm giving you the courtesy of time stamping this so as to avoid spoilers. And thank you so much for putting me in the position of having to drug my own mother. I finally got her to take some tea about half past noon, spiked with a mild sedative. Nothing heavy, she'll wake up if the phone rings. Will it ring? I haven't the slightest idea of what's going on or why they're here in 1944. Or why my father is going off to fight in WWII. I know New York's a bit bumpy as far as the TARDIS is concerned, but where the  _hell_ are you? What happened, Doctor? What happened to them and why couldn't we stop it.

I did a bit of exploring around their house (And if that works you all up to sixes and sevens well then you just show up here and stop me!) and it looks like they're settled and have been for a few years now. There are pictures of me, so a future version has been here before. There's one of the three of us from Christmas, it must have been what she was talking about. It looks as though I'll have a nice time. They have a photo of the three of you next to their bed, taken on Aridius if I know my binary star systems. It's right beside their wedding photo. They still love you, so whatever happened I suppose all is forgiven.

 _Is_ Dad going to call? Mum won't or more than likely can't tell me. Did you really just send me here to say goodbye to him? And then what, leave Mum, all by herself? That seems cold, even for you. I have to assume I'm here to help but I have no idea what to do. She seems to know me, really well in fact, so did Dad. I'm glad I have that to look forward to as well. But I don't really know  _her_ at least not as a mother. I love her just the same though. Now I'm going to hop back in bed and cuddle my mother until whatever happens, happens.

Is this penance for some awful mess I make or a mess we make together?

Sometimes...there are days that I really hate you.

No I don't.

-River


	58. April 5, 1944 9:10 PM (Amy 3)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

5th of April 1944

_9:10 PM_

Dear Doctor,

It's ten minutes past nine and he hasn't called. I guess that's it then. I thought I'd feel it when he went but maybe that's silly. I didn't feel it when you died, I mean I  _felt_ it, but you  _know_ what I mean. I'm sitting here on the edge of the bathtub waiting for it to fill. I have Rory's letter placed on the side of the sink, I guess I'll have to read it sooner or later. But I feel like that's admitting once and for all that he's gone.

I kept thinking I heard the phone ring a dozen times today. Melody slipped me something, but honestly I halfway expected it. I think I just wanted to pass the hours unconscious.

I-

Hang on.

_9:40_

I'm going to try and write this exactly as it happened but my hands are shaking...

I stopped writing to you because I heard Melody calling me from the other room. I grabbed my robe, opened the door and there she was standing with the phone receiver practically in my face. I froze. I just didn't know what to do. Finally she just held it to my ear.

Hello, Amy? Amy, Are you there? I'm pretty sure I can hear you breathing.

R-Rory?

I saw Melody nod with confirmation.

Yes, it's me. I told you I'd call. I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner. There was an accident just outside of Utica, we were stuck behind it for hours we didn't get into Pine Camp until eight. I'm so sorry.

Rory is this really you?

I heard him chuckle and then sniffle on the other end.

It's me, Amy. Oh God, did you open the second letter? I know I told you to open it after eight hours and it's totally ok if you did but I guess I'm hoping your procrastination took over.

I was just about to read it now.

Don't. Sock it away. Just forget about it, everything is going to be ok. I mean, I am still most likely headed to Normandy, but really, everything is going to be ok.

I thought you were dead.

I know and I'm so sorry.

What happened?

A bit anti-climactic, really. We took the Henry Hudson Parkway and as we got closer to the Hudson River I started to feel sick to my stomach, like we both did before, but not as strong. I closed my eyes, I held onto my picture of you and Melody and I waited. Nothing happened. The next thing I knew we were over the George Washington Bridge and I was in New York, very, very much alive and not at all blinked from existence or erased from time. I guess I don't really understand it.

I don't either and I don't care. The only thing that matters is that you're ok.

I'm sorry I put you through this.

It's ok. I can't stop crying but it's ok.

Yeah I know the feeling, trying my best to keep it in. Not in the most private place after all. Trying to be cool.

I'm sure you're very, very cool.

Melody had been standing at my side in the doorway, smiling as she wiped away a few tears when suddenly she swore and edge past me into the bathroom. I hadn't even noticed the water pooling around my bare feet.

What was that? Are you guys, ok? Rory asked.

Nothing, we're fine. It's wonderful, Everything is wonderful! The bathtub is overflowing and water is coursing all over the floor and it's wonderful!

It is wonderful isn't it. And then he laughed, it felt like ages since the two of us had laughed.

Will you be, ok, Amy? Can you wait for me? V-E Day. May 8th, 1945. I'm an old guy, they probably won't keep me for mop up. We'll demob and they'll send me home. That's a Tuesday, Amy. It takes about 7 or 8 days to sail back to the States. That means I should be in your arms by Tuesday, May 15, 1945. A little over a year from now on a Tuesday afternoon.

I'll wait for you, Rory. Always.

I'm sorry to cut things so short, but I've got to go. I'll try and call you again before we ship out. But no matter what I've got paper and pencils and I'm going to write you. I'm going to write to you so much you're going to get tired of seeing letters from me.

I laughed through my tears.

Never.

Keep writing Amy. Keep writing your column, keep writing your stories, keep writing to the Doctor. And for God sakes start writing to me. Just use Victory Mail.

Ok, I'll start right away..

No, first you'll eat something and then get some sleep. Ok?

Ok.

I've got to go, baby.

I love you, Rory.

I love you, too. I told you we'd make it. Get some rest. I'll see you Tuesday.

See you Tuesday.

We hung up and then Melody and I proceeded to do a happy, silly dance around the apartment. I didn't think I'd ever be so grateful that my husband was on his way to war. But I am, Doctor. I'm so happy. Like I said, my hands are shaking. I'm too wired to sleep now so I think I'm just going to sit up talk to my daughter oh and clean up the bathroom floor.

Think about us, Doctor. Think and send good thoughts because a very good man is going to war.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love Amy, Rory and Melody

Because we all love you.


	59. April 11, 1944

11 of April 1944

Dear Bracey,

So much has happened recently I almost don't know where to begin. First things first. Rory, at the moment is on a ship, somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic bound for England. In effect, he got drafted and he is now Major Rory Arthur Williams and he's off to war. I can say that a lot more calmly now that I use to.

And I know what you're thinking and the answer is, I have no idea how. I was so frightened about what would happen to him if he left Manhattan and he ended up fine. I can't explain it, it goes against everything we thought the Doctor was telling us. But right now, I'm in no mood to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So, I'm by myself now, just me and Spartacus. Haven't gone stircrazy yet but we'll see. Trying to keep busy.

I had to stop working on Amelia Meets The Doctor. It's a little too painful. So I skipped right ahead to Amelia and the Starwhale. I'll send you a rough draft when I have one.

God, it's been so long. I feel like both of us have been so busy and crazy it's gotten harder and harder to reconnect. But I miss you Edwin. I hope you're well.

Write back sooner than soon,

Love,

Amy

 


	60. Sometime in the 51st Century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Another quick chapter just to dispense with a problem I could see cropping up in the future. The idea of Amy and Rory being censored was gnawing at me so I had to invent some sort of tech to get around it. Enter River to solve all my problems. I think a lot of this can also be blamed on the fact that I watched The Lake House recently...God help me.

Sometime in the 51st Century

Dear Mum,

As I recall I didn't get a chance to give Dad a farewell gift. Victory Mail is notoriously vulnerable to snooping and censorship and I want you to be able to talk freely. This isn't psychic paper but it's in the same family. You send him half the ream in a care package and you keep the other half. Whatever he writes there will appear on one of the pieces of paper in your stack and vice versa. Given the time distortion there may be a delay, sometimes as long as it might take in regular the post, but both of you can speak freely. On top of that its 1/10 the thickness of regular paper so you don't have to worry about it weighing him down. If you start to run out, I'll ship more!

Love you, Mum

Gotta run.

Love, Melody.


	61. April 16, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

16th of April 1944

Some things never change and among them is how bloody choppy the North Atlantic can be. The good thing about that is it means we don't have to worry that much about being torpedoed by subs. The bad thing is the poor GI's are incredibly seasick. Some of them barely leave their bunks. I tend to them as best I can. If I was at home I'd prescribe dimehydrinate or promethazine or scopolamine. But as it is, the best advice I can give them is to come up on deck for fresh air and failing that get some sleep to give their brains and eyes a rest.

I spend a good deal of my time on deck, speaking with officers with stronger stomachs. Introducing myself and getting to know the men I'll be commanding and serving under. There's a familiarity to all of this. The military doesn't change and I admit I like the rhythm here, the pace.

We'll make landfall in a little over two days and I find myself anticipating seeing Britain grow larger in the distance. I know it's not the place I remember, I know I won't even set foot near Leadworth again but I may, at least for a moment, be able to pretend to be home.

But home is a nebulous word now. Home at one time was Leadworth, then the TARDIS, then London, then Manhattan but the one constant was always Amy. Amy made home, home. We got to speak once more before I shipped out and she sounded so much better. I hated leaving her and worse still I hated hearing her so broken and despondent on the phone when I couldn't hold her. As the bus pulled away I saw her sobbing, holding our daughters hand, she was so thin, she'd lost so much weight...I just hated myself.

Sometimes I think we both have a weird form of TARDIS post traumatic stress disorder. We're both so traumatized just by regular life because of Doctor life and vice versa that our reactions usually swing pretty extreme. Or maybe I'm not giving us enough credit, maybe we're as normal as we can be, maybe we're holding up pretty well. I just hate leaving her alone.

What lies ahead are weeks of grim anticipation. First we head for London or what remains of it. I'll be putting in some hours at St. Thomas' hospital then its on to Slapton Sands near Stokenham for weeks of training exercises. Then D-Day.

It's still jarring to awaken and not find Amy by my side. I look forward to landing simply because I can start writing to her. Whenever I read her words I can hear her voice, I can feel her arms around me.

Sometimes I think about all the places the Doctor has been. All the times throughout time he's landed on earth. I wonder if he's here now. Some version of him, some incarnation. If he is, would I recognize him? Would there be something in me that he'd recognize? Do emotions echo back through time? God help me but I know I'll be on the lookout for him. I guess I'll look for him until the day I die. It's not like I have a plan. It's not like I know what I'd say if anything. But it might be nice to look into those eyes again, shake his hand, give him a hug even if he had no idea who I was. It would be nice to hear the TARDIS again.

Some things never change.


	62. April 30, 1944

30th of April 1944

Dear Amy,

I am sorry and saddened to hear about Rory's situation. This is all so incredibly sudden. I imagine you must be reeling. Would you like some company, my dear? The moment I told Dorabella she immediately asked me to ask you if you'd like for her to drive down. She took quite a liking to you over Christmas and she couldn't bear the idea of you being alone.

What I have gleaned from your husband is that he, like you is a survivor. I believe he will prevail. He said something I found curious on Christmas. He described himself as something along the lines of 'an old man who had seen too much of war'. Has he served before? His story about the Lonely Roman was so compelling, so strangely vivid but I can't imagine how that could possibly fit into his past.

What news I have pales in comparison. Tempers have flared more than a few times in the lab. We're all getting rather testy and short with each other. It doesn't help that we've divided into what appears to be two camps, one Chalk River the other Montreal Lab with McGill University appearing to wait things out to pick a winner. I deplore these types of politics. Despite the gravity of our work given the immaturity I must deal with on an almost daily basis I sometimes feel more like a schoolboy than a scientist.

Enough about me, you don't want to hear the whingings of an old man. But, dear Amy, if you'll allow me to assume a perhaps unearned parental tone for a moment then read on. I won't have you wasting away while Rory is gone. I expect you to eat three square meals a day. I also expect you to take some air and enjoy the time you spend walking Spartacus. Do not isolate yourself, visit with your friends, go out for tea or dinner, take yourself to one of those movies you enjoy so much. Rory wants you vibrant and as happy as circumstances can allow, not cloistered and miserable. I would certainly never demand you force a happy face, but don't hide from the possibility of one either. Misguided penance on your part will not bring him home any sooner. I also expect you to keep up with your writing, not just to me or to Rory but  _your_ writing. Finish your stories, we are wanting for reading material here! I expect a draft of "Amy and the Starwhale" to arrive in the post sometime soon. All right, that's the end of my playing  _pater familias_. I hope you didn't mind and understand it was written with nothing but love.

I'm afraid I must draw this letter to a close now but please don't hesitate or delay to write me back. I am your friend and though we may be far apart, I am, as always here for you.

Take care of yourself Amy and I mean that not as cliche but as deepest wish. You and Rory remain in my thoughts.

Love always,

Bracey

 


	63. Chapter 63

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

1st of May 1944

Dear Amy,

I'm sorry it's been a while since you've heard from me. I only now received word that my first letter to you was destroyed. Censorship at its most extreme. I have no idea what I wrote that was so dangerous because they won't tell me. I can see this is going to be a problem so I'll try to be a touch more vague in this letter. I'm sorry for making you worry and for you having to go so long without word. I'll make certain, somehow, it doesn't happen again.

It feels good to be back on terra firma and God it feels good to be back in Britain even in the midst of war. The air here is different, as is the light and I'm surrounded by familiar accents. On the other hand, it's a shell, a hollowed out husk of the London it was and the London we know it will become. For those reasons alone I can't say that I wish you were here, I wouldn't ever want you to have seen this. You know me, I was never a raging patriot and have no fear I don't intend to start wearing the Union Flag on a t shirt, but seeing our home like this...well it hurts. I didn't see much of the city when we disembarked, I was fairly exhausted and slept for most of the trip to St. Thomas' so I'd be rested for my shift.

My men are staying at the Red Cross Club while I am, for the time being, staying on the hospital grounds. Finding myself alone and with a few hours to kill I decided to go out and explore. Thank you for letting me use your old camera, I promise to take lots of pictures and send them back to you. You should do the same, it might make missing you and home slightly easier if I get inundated with photos with every letter. I've never done London as a tourist so I caught a cab and then set out on foot, walking around until dark. It's not a joyous experience and I find myself feeling at times like I'm on a tour through a graveyard. Entire city blocks are missing. The frames of buildings jut towards the sky, charred corpses of what they once were. Not too long ago some soldiers had apparently dug up a German bomb that hadn't one off. The charge was removed and a slot inserted so that people could drop in coins in support of the war effort, rebuilding and widows and orphans. I dropped in a handful of cash. I even saw Buckingham Palace with one entire wing leveled by bombs.

But it's not all grim. In typical American fashion the GI's here are determined to root out a good time wherever it may be. The pubs echo with music and laughter and dancing and though I don't participate, I do find myself sitting back, watching them enjoying themselves.

What about you, my love? How are you doing? I hope all is well. I hope you are treating yourself well, eating, getting enough sleep and writing your wonderful stories. There are so many adventures you and the Doctor shared that I wasn't privy to, just as I have many tales that you don't know. It occurs to me now, when I'm so far from you that I may have come off as secretive. I apologize. That wasn't my intent. I find myself wanting to shield you always from some of the ugliness I've seen. I always saw it as my cross to bear but I realize now it may have appeared dismissive or condescending towards you. Part of it is because I see no praise as being deserved for the years I spent protecting the Pandorica. I love you, I could do no less. Also...there are things I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to think less of me. You once asked me if I'd ever killed anyone. I have. I've killed in war. I've murdered out of self preservation. And now, here, where every night is the eve of battle I know I will have to kill again.

The Doctor and I talked about that once. The blood on our hands. I think he was surprised to actually find someone to discuss it with. We talked about guilt and remorse, forgiveness and atonement and stains that never wash clean. All of this one long night after you'd gone to bed. We didn't really come up with any answers.

I'm sorry, Amy. My thoughts are churning so I apologize if I'm rambling. My only point is, I should have been more open with you and perhaps we can share our stories with one another as we always should have.

I miss you. I'm trying to grow accustomed to waking and not finding you by my side. I imagine you too must find our bed lonely. Everyday spent here brings me one day nearer to being back with you. I love you across the span of time itself. Dream of me as I dream of you and perhaps one night we'll find one another there.

See you on Tuesday.

Love,

Rory


	64. May 2, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of May 1944

Dear Doctor,

First real scare of Rory's deployment. I haven't heard from him since he shipped out. I'm trying to keep calm and remind myself that the Army is nothing but prompt in sending out death notices. And that, no matter how important it is for frantic wives waiting at home, it is not a priority for the military to be on point where letters home are concerned. I check the mailbox everyday and I have to believe he's ok and that I'll hear from him soon.

Melody stayed with me a few days after we saw her Dad off. She seemed dismayed at the lack of food in the fridge and we went to the market. I'm not sure how but she produced several extra rationing books so we ended up buying a little more than normal. When I chastised her about inflation and where she'd even gotten them she just cast me a look that was so like Mels I started laughing. I hope you let her make you laugh Doctor. Both of you have such wonderful laughs.

I know domestic living isn't exactly your thing, but she and I had the nicest time cooking and being with one another. We turned on the radio and even started singing badly to Besame Mucho. I think we got distracted and that's probably how we ended up burning the soup, which for some reason at that moment seemed like the funniest thing in the world. I don't know what I'd do without her. I love being a mum.

I hope you have nights like that with each other. Just sort of humming about the TARDIS kitchen in pleasant silence. You don't have to fill every moment with your chattering, Doctor. Just enjoy the quiet, fix her dinner or if that's too daunting, whip up some fish fingers and custard, she'd love it, all Pond girls do and that's a fact. My daughter is a boisterous, adventurous, amazing, fearless woman who sometimes just wants a quiet evening with her husband. She told me that. We had quite a few earnest chats in the time she was here.

Lock the door, shut off the phone, turn off that big brain of yours and love your wife. Let her talk, let her reveal herself to you and let her cry if she needs to. She's so terrified to cry in front of you. So scared you'll think she's weak. We struggle so hard to stay young and fresh and strong for you. We fear your fickleness, your callousness, we don't want to be tossed to the rubbish pile. She never wants to show you the damage, Doctor. None of us do. The only reason I suppose I feel safe doing so now is because you're millions of miles and years away. My greatest fear was never seeing you again and since that's already happened, it's afforded me a sort of grim freedom.

Don't mention lines around the eyes Doctor, or pounds gained or creaking bones or slowing down. We already know, just as we know you're not saying it to hurt us rather you're saying it because it haunts you. Because you hate endings and you shiver at watching us decay. But it does hurt us, just like living in fear of being someone you used to know,  _hurts_  us. I know you don't mean to, my love, but you can make us  _so afraid_.

I love you, Doctor. I love you so much for aging for us. Yes, I noticed. I noticed how those gray hairs just magically sprouted one day. You said, I try to keep up. It may be one of the kindest things you've ever, ever done for us.

But there's damage, Doctor. There's so much damage and its not your fault, it's the risk we all took when we fell in love with you and the life we lead with you. But you have to be gentle, you have to be kind. We're only human.

So as a meddling mother-in-law I demand you take her in your arms and tell her its ok to be human. It's ok to grow older. Promise her you won't ever drop her off someday and never come back. Promise and then mean it. God forbid it, but what if you lost her Doctor? What if you lost her and you never told her all the things you feel? What if she wound up stranded somewhere far away with no way of ever seeing you again? What if you never had a quiet moment, alone with her in the kitchen, laughing because you burned soup?

This wasn't even what I intended to write tonight. I think I got carried away. But if I was there, Rory and I would have taken you to have a sit down and discussed this with you in person and in detail. This will just have to do.

I love you, Doctor. I hope to have better news of and from Rory to tell you the next time I write. I sent off his carepackage awhile ago filled with socks and chocolate and books and a new journal and most importantly that wonderful paper Melody provided. I hope it catches up with him soon.

Love across the stars Doctor.

Love,  
Amy


	65. May 2, 1944 (A to B)

2nd of May 1944

Dear Bracey,

Let me settle your fears and say that I took no offense at all at your Dad-like tone. It was actually nice. I miss my Dad. He won't even be born for another five years or so. Sometimes it's nice to be gently scolded, it reminds you you're cared about. I've been eating and trying to take exercise, but I admit I haven't really stepped out of the house yet. But I'm working on it.

I still haven't heard from Rory but I'm trying to just stay calm and breathe.

Not much else really to report so I figured I'd answer your question about Rory and his old man comment. This is where things are going to get a bit weird so, hang on.

A long time ago, in a time that doesn't exist anymore Rory was a Roman centurion. No. Wait, I can't start there. I have to go back further. When I was little, just before the Doctor came, there was a crack in my wall. But it wasn't an ordinary crack. It was a crack in the skin of time itself. It was a crack of forgetfulness and erasure. That crack, Bracey, it erased chunks of my life, it erased my parents. I didn't even remember them, it just swallowed them up and picked them out of my memory and I never even missed them.

Then one day, while travelling with the Doctor as adults, Rory and I wound up in 2020. It's not important why or what happened except that Rory died. Rory died saving the Doctor's life. And that crack, that crack from my wall, well by then we'd started to realize it was everywhere, like it was following us. No matter where we went, we couldn't outrun it. The Doctor pulled me into the TARDIS and we left Rory's body outside. I watched, helpless as that horrible energy from the crack circled him and slowly removed him from time and from my memory. And then, it was like Rory had never existed. I didn't remember him. The Doctor did but I didn't. And yet somehow, in my head, he was still there. I would get so sad sometimes, like I had lost something. The most precious something in the world to me.

The Doctor and I kept travelling until we got a message from my daughter, except I didn't know she was my daughter then. We wound up in the year 102 A.D. (Still with me, Bracey? I know it's a lot to swallow.). Rory was there but I didn't recognize him and he wasn't exactly Rory, he was an auton, a sort of robot copy of himself. But he remembered me, and after awhile I remembered him but then he, quite accidentally shot me and then I died. Well, I was as the Doctor said,  _mostly_  dead. We'd gone back in time because of something called the Pandorica which was crafted by the Doctor's enemies to imprison him forever. It's very timey-wimey to try and explain coherently how he got out. I'm not even sure after all this time that I understand it 100%, but he did. The Pandorica was the ultimate box and it was inescapable even by dying. So Rory and the Doctor put me inside, where I'd remain unconscious but safe until they could free me. The Doctor hopped ahead to the future. But Rory, my amazing Rory volunteered to stay behind, to watch over me and keep me safe.

Edwin, he looked after me in that box for 2000 years. That's how much he loved me. So yes, his Roman stories are very vivid and very real because they are all true. All of his stories are true and he is the best story of all. He's the smartest, bravest, most selfless man I have ever, ever known. I don't deserve him. He hates it when I say that but its true.

Oh, I'm crying now. I haven't gotten word from him yet and I really shouldn't have started telling this story before I knew he was ok. I'm afraid I'll have to leave it here, Bracey. Sorry for being abrupt. I'll write you again soon.

Love,

Amy

 


	66. May 5, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

5th of May 1944

Dear Amy,

Hello, love! Your care package arrived yesterday and I'm already eager to make use of every item but most especially the paper. It's light, it feels as thin as tissue but I can tell it's durable as well. Clealy it's not earth tech which is why I assume you didn't send corresponding envelopes. Is it like psychic paper? I understand why you couldn't include any instructions and while I'm not entirely sure how it's going to work, here goes nothing.

I was starting to write to you, in fact, when I had an interesting encounter earlier this evening. London is dark come sunset and when I say dark I mean _dark_. The city is still under blackout if you walk too far down the wrong alley you can't even see the hand in front of your face. After getting a bit turned around I wandered until I found a pub.

I was sitting at a table in the back, writing and eating something the waitress called chicken though I think I'd dispute that, when I noticed someone sit down next to me.

Hello there.

I looked up from my letter.

Hello.

He was staring at my paper, strangely. I assumed he was just nosy and I pushed it to the side.

Not many people choose a noisy pub to write a letter.

He was American, perhaps a little younger than us with an open and friendly face. But there was something else behind his eyes that I couldn't place.

I'm just taking advantage of the electricity.

Understood. So, what's your name?

Major Rory Williams.

Pleased to meet you Major Williams.

I glanced at his clothing and frowned. By his accent I'd assumed him to be with a local unit but he was wearing the uniform of the RAF.

Rory will do.

Sounds good. So, Rory, where you from?

Manhattan.

He paused and looked me up and down.

Really? With that accent I could have sworn you'd be from Newport or maybe even Cardiff.

He was close. Surprisingly close and again I felt both of us sizing the other up.

No. Born and raised in New York. My parents were from Cardiff, I heard the accent around the house and I guess being here just brought it out more. What about you? RAF but you sound like you're from the States. Or rather you sound as though you're trying to sound like you're from the States. A bit mid-Atlantic, aren't we? Like Cary Grant or Gore Vidal.

He gave me a measured smile, a smile that made me nervous. We were both still trying to feel the other one out.

Interesting comparisons. Can I buy you a drink, Rory?

Only if I can buy you one.

He leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, loudly and that in itself was very American. I didn't dislike it. It's more like I didn't know whether or not I could trust him.

He's a bomber and as we drank we talked about some of the missions he'd been on. I told him I'd served in Shanghai in WWI and he countered with having helped put down the Boxer Rebellion.

The Boxer Rebellion ended in 1901. Amy, that doesn't make sense and he just dropped the fact purposefully in the middle of our conversation, daring me to challenge the incongruity.

He rattled off something in Mandarin which I responded to easily.

Why do I feel as though you're testing me? I asked suddenly.

I don't know, Rory. I'm just making conversation. Say, there's a dance hall just up the road. Lot's of booze, lot's of girls, so I hear.

Not interested in girls.

Really? Well there's boys, too.

I mean, I'm spoken for.

Oh. The good ones often are. Is that who you're writing to, your sweetheart?

Wife, actually.

He glanced at the paper again saying, You must miss her an awful lot.

I do. Now, if you'll excuse me-

I had started to gather my things to leave but he stopped me.

Rory, sorry, it's ok. I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to leave. It's your table, I'll let you be.

Thank you, I said with relief. I didn't know why I had the sudden urge to get away from him.

You're welcome.

He stood to leave and smiled down at me.

Maybe we'll talk again.

I don't even know your name.

No, you're right, you don't.

And then he walked away. I can't say that I disliked him, he just made me uneasy.

What do you think? Have I just become extra suspicious of people? Mountain meet molehill, right?

Other than that, nothing unusual to report. My work in the hospital here is only slightly different than what I did at home. A lot of sad, wounded boys, all of them dying to go home even if not all of them are willing to admit it. I patch them up and send them back to the front. It's not the first time I've done that and it won't be the last. It's not even the first time I've worked at St. Thomas'. I was here in the 1300's caring for plague victims and those otherwise considered untouchable. Much of the old building has been destroyed and at least three ward blocks of the current building were hit by bombs but being here is still familiar.

It's a little later than 9PM in London which means it's just past 4PM in Manhattan. I don't exactly know how to send this. I don't know if you'll get it immediately but I'm just glad I'll be able to speak to you without fear of anyone else reading it.

I miss and love you, Amy.

Write back soon and see you on Tuesday,

Love,

Rory


	67. May 8, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of May 1944

Dear Doctor,

The paper that Melody sent is a marvel. I wrote Amy a letter and as soon as I signed my name the text disappeared. The paper was totally blank like I hadn't written anything on it ever. I know she received it because within five or so minute the words, Got it! this is amazing! *squeals* I love you! Writing back now!, appeared in front of me. It's a little like chatting. In fact we talked like that for most of the night. One of us writing a line, the other responding. It's not perfect, sometimes it take a really long time for a message to get through. I can tell it's going to be a little buggy, we probably won't chat every night but it will be so nice when we do. It's the closest thing to paradise we have right now and it's grand.

Being here is like being inside a history book. Manhattan was always disconcerting in a similar way but not exactly like this. The Blitz, the reconstruction of London after the war is something we spent a great deal of time on in school. I did a report on it and I remember pasting black and white pictures to posterboard and giving a speech where I rattled off casualties and losses and reconstruction costs. Now I'm seeing it, in person.

St. Thomas'. I haven't been back there since the 13th or 14th century. It feels strange to be assigned to it again. It's that cyclical thing I've spoken about before, I suppose. The universe has its own perverse sense of humor. This building is of course all new but the ruins of the place I recall sit within a stones throw. This place is ripe with ancient and bad memories for me. Of course many things change over the centuries but I could swear to you when its quiet I can still hear the monastic chants. The Te Deum. The Ressurexi. The Tui Sunt Caeli. I knew them by heart. I know them by heart though I haven't thought of them since that time so long ago when I became a postulant, took the vows and donned the habit.

Did I never tell you I was a monk, Doctor? Twice, as a matter of fact. I served at the Amesbury Monastery in the 300's. It was established near Stonehenge and I offered my services in its construction. I told Prince Ambrosius that I would work day and night to raise a glorious Abbey if he would permit me to have one section of the catacombs for my own. I asked that I never be disturbed nor questioned. I asked that my privacy and vow of silence be respected and honored. He agreed but only if I took the holy vows. Reluctantly I consented. In the beginning I built Amesbury by myself, brick, by brick by brick, essentially 24 hours a day. One night I dragged the Pandorica from the Underhenge and placed it in what would be the bowels of the building. After that several other men who also intended to join the order arrived to assist me. I didn't speak a word, only gave them a warning glance when and if they neared the Pandorica. It was the strangest of strange sites. An untiring Roman soldier convert demonstrating what they perceived to be an unflagging devotion to God.

My devotion is and always will be to Amy.

The monastery built, I took my vows and assumed my place at Amy's side. I rarely emerged except sometimes at night to look up at the starless sky. After 100 years I became legend, after 200 I became myth and I was left alone as I wanted to be. Even when the monastery was destroyed by the Saxons I remained, I left only when my service to the Empire required. Even then it was only to protect the Pandorica.

The Lutum Fecit  
The Ave Verum  
The Virgo Dei  
The Salve Regina

I never believed. Not really. But I still take a sort of comfort in hearing them. Well I suppose it's a mixture of comfort and fear. At once I am both transported back to a place of silence and peace. Just the Pandorica and I, each of us still as stone. But also there is that creeping fear. The fear of discovery, exposure, the fear that I may have to fight, again.

There's more but I don't want to delve into it right now.

I will say I'm glad to be writing to you again. I'm glad that my goodbye wasn't final. Sometimes I feel as though you're here with me. Like if I just turn my head quickly enough I'll catch a glimpse of you, sitting there, giving me that chuffed little smile of yours. Silly, I know. But I also know I carry you you in my head and I carry you in my heart and that's gotten me through some very trying times.

Take care of yourself, Doctor.

Love,

Rory


	68. May 11, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of May 1944

I don't think I'll sleep very much tonight. I wish I had the Doctor to talk to, to ask for advice because I really don't quite know what to do.

I went to a completely different pub tonight, clear across town as a matter of fact and he was there again.

Hello, handsome.

I didn't look up until I realized he must be addressing me.

Oh,  _I'm_ handsome.

You certainly are. I'm a sucker for a big, strong, Roman nose. It usually speaks to a big-

Are you always this flirty?

I'm just saying Hello. Not writing a letter to your wife, tonight?

No...I just stepped out to get a little air.

Where are you staying?

St. Thomas'.

Patient?

Doctor, actually.

His eyes narrowed for a second.

I don't usually like, doctors. But I like you.

You don't even know me. And I still don't know your name. Men usually have pretty sketchy reasons for hiding their names.

(Sorry, Doctor, you know I don't mean you.)

You're right. He extended his hand for me to shake it. Sorry for all the cloak and dagger. Captain Jack Harkness.

I shook his hand and waited for whatever was to come next.

So, you got a picture of your wife?

I never shrank from a chance to show off Amy. Reaching in my wallet I pulled out a recent picture.

Wow. You got yourself a looker there, Rory. And a ginger too. Is she from Manhattan as well?

Uh, yeah. Childhood sweethearts.

He stared at the picture a little longer.

Intelligent face. Kind eyes. Great gams.

That'll do. I said taking the photo back.

You want to go for a walk, Rory?

It wasn't that I was afraid of him. I felt pretty certain I could take him in a fight if push came to shove but I didn't want to have whatever conversation he wanted to have with me.

Not especially. I said warily.

He laughed. Come on, this won't take long.

Reluctantly I agreed. I stood up and followed him out of the pub and into the darkened streets of London.

So what are your orders?

Well, after I finish up at the hospital we're headed to Slapton Sands.

Really? After what just happened?

You mean the accident? I said choosing my words carefully. On April 28th just a bit after 12, three ships were waiting to start night training for Utah. A German sub on maneuvers had come out of nowhere and slaughtered them. 749 men died. At least that was the official story.

That was no accident, Major. That was the US and British armies doing what they do best. Covering up mistakes.

I didn't say anything, just continued walking at his side. It was so dark, I couldn't even see him anymore, could only feel and hear him to my right.

Of course you know that's not what I meant when I said, What are you orders. See I just can't figure you out, Rory. I scanned you and you're human enough. But nothing about you fits. The way you speak, your accent, your references. Don't get me wrong your Mandarin is impeccable and the Cary Grant mention was perfect and quite flattering, so thank you. But you slipped up with Gore Vidal, who I think at the moment is serving in the US Navy. It's hard, I know, trust me. But that combined with the GAP sweatshirt I saw over your wife's shoulder slung on the sofa and the paper you were writing to her on lets me know you are not from around these parts. So I ask you again, what are your orders?

His tone now had an edge to it. I decided to counter with some of my own.

You're neither American nor British. There is no possible way you're the age you appear to be and you also put down the Boxer rebellion, so either you're lying or there's something else far more wizard going on here. And if your name is actually Jack Harkness, I'll eat my hat. I've never heard anything sound more made up. Are we done here? Because I'd really like to get back to the hospital, write to my wife and go to bed.

It was the fractals.

I'm sorry, what? I had turned to leave. The street was just as dark ahead of us as it was behind but I was tired of his company.

The fractals on the paper you were using. Not everyone can see them but Time Agents are trained to spot them. I can also sniff out psychic paper at 500 yards. You're not a Time Agent though are you, Rory?

I don't know what you're talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn't want to discuss it. I am Rory Arthur Williams, I am a Major in the United States Army. Serial Number O-8685860. I was born in the year 1905 in Manhattan, New York. That is  _it_. That is  _all_. That is the  _truth_. Now, leave me alone.

I looked you up, Rory. And the thing is you don't exist. Oh, all the files and the records are there for you and your wife. Everything I could need, or ask for or request appeared promptly and with all the i's dotted and t's crossed. But none of it's real. Look, Rory, maybe I can help you. Come back with me and we can talk.

But I had already started to stride away from him. I didn't want to talk. I didn't know who or what he was, but he wasn't the Doctor. He couldn't help. And without the Doctor I felt vulnerable, worse yet I worried about Amy's vulnerability. I can fight what I can see and understand. But I don't have a sonic screwdriver or a vortex manipulator I don't even have those flash weapons hiding away in my hand anymore.

But now, sitting here writing this I'm kicking myself for not talking to him. Finding out who he is, where he came from, why he's here if he's stuck like we are. Perhaps...if he turned out to be a threat...neutralize him.

I'm turning into that man again.

The man who knows that every equation eventually comes down to kill or be killed.

And I hate him.

 


	69. May 12, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper London UK- Manhattan US**

12th of May 1944

Amy? Are you there?

I'm here, Rory. How are you?

Better. Always better when I'm talking to you. How was your day, dear?

Good. Uneventful. Now what's wrong?

How do you mean?

Something's wrong, I can tell.

You can tell through temporal paper that something's wrong?

Am I right?

Yes.

Out with it. Are you ok? Are you hurt? Are you scared? You know you can tell me if you're scared. ...I'm scared.

What are you afraid of, love?

No changing the subject, it isn't about me, Major. Now tell me.

Remember that man I told you about?

The guy who was hitting on you at the pub?

Well, that's not exactly how I would describe it, but yeah. I saw him again.

What did he say?

Hello, handsome.

Oh, Rory, has it been so long since I've flirted with you that you've forgotten what it sounds like? I'll have to rectify that when you get home.

Very funny. He starts talking to me again and then he asks me to step outside.

For a fight?

No for a chat. He tells me that he scanned me and I'm "human enough" but that I don't make sense. He could tell I was writing to you on some form of timey-wimey paper. I showed him a picture of you and he recognized the GAP shirt in the background.

Oh my God!

He kept asking me what my mission was.

What did you do?

I countered, I told him he made even less sense than I did.

Rory, you don't think he could be-

He's not the Doctor. I don't know how I know that I just do. All I do know is that like us, he doesn't belong here.

How did it end? Are you safe.

I walked away from him. I told him I was human, I was from this time, I had no dea what he was talking about and to leave me alone.

Do you think he bought it?

I don't know. No. Probably not.

I notice you didn't answer me when I asked, Are you safe?

I'm ok, Amy. I'm fine. But I do need a favor. I need you to look him up on the internet for me.

Do you think he'll be there?

I don't know. I just have a hunch

I trust your hunches. Let me get my computer. Ok. Name?

Captain Jack Harkness.

Sounds made up.

That's what I said.

Ok give me a second.

Ok. Amy? Amy it's been a few minutes. did I lose you?

Sorry. Wait.

What is it? Tell me.

Nothing came up on him directly but I got taken to this website. It's old, hasn't been active since 2006.

What does it say?

It was run by this guy. Mickey Smith. Rory, the title of the website is called "Who is Doctor Who?"

What?

I'm going to the cached version first from the previous year. "Have you seen this man? Contact Clive." I think it's the Doctor. Not  _our_  Doctor. I'm clicking sightings. 1880 Sumatra. 1912 Southampton...right before the Titanic sailed. 1963 the Kennedy Assassination. Rory there are photographs of him and drawings.

We looked up the Doctor before, why did none of this ever come up?

Don't know. This page is filled with people who've seen him, run into him, had experiences with him.

Traveled with him?

No, not so far. This is some sort of conspiracy website. Whoever Clive is I think he thinks the Doctor is bad.

Go to the most recent version.

Ok. This seems to be run by the Mickey bloke. Same title, guess he couldn't afford a domain name change. But now it's headlined as "Defending The Earth: Because Friend Stick Together". "Clive devoted his life tirelessly to seeking out the Doctor and now he's dead. Clive paid with his life. Maybe I'll be next. Bringing the truth is the most important thing in the world."

I don't understand.

Neither do I.

Does the website mention anything about Harkness?

Not that I can see so far but it does link to UNIT and something called Torchwood House.

Torchwood. That's an anagram of Doctor who.

You can rattle off anagrams that quickly?

Yeah, I can. Amy Pond can be turned into Mad Pony, which I think fits you perfectly.

LOL. Shut your face.

Tell me more about Torchwood.

Torchwood House. Hey, it's in Scotland. But I don't get it. It just seems like a touristy place. It gives the history, who owned it. You can have a wedding held there. I think it's just an old house, Rory.

No, there's something more. So, a search of Harkness brings up websites that mention the Doctor as well as a manor that's name spells out Doctor who when you rearrange the letters.

I don't think you should talk to him again.

Amy, I have to.

He can't help. What if he hurts you?

Perhaps I'd just have to hurt him first. What year was Torchwood House founded?

Owned by the McLeish family since the 1500's. Purchased by the Crown in 1893. So whatever it is, that and the link to UNIT mean it's at least a government affiliation. I'm going to write to Bracey, maybe see if Churchill knows anything.

Good idea. In the meantime, be careful alright? I don't know who this man is, I don't know what he's capable of. The only bright spot is that he has no idea what I'm capable of either.

Rory. What are you capable of?

Anything required to keep you safe.

Rory-

It's ok, Amy. Thank you for looking all that up for me. Your hand must be pretty tired from writing.

Not at all. I miss you.

I miss you too.

What happens for you next?

Next is training for the invasion.

D-Day.

Stop.

Stop what?

Stop looking it up on Wikipedia. I know that's what you're doing and it's only going to upset you.

I'm not. Are you going to be on Utah Beach or Omaha?

Amy.

Answer.

Utah.

200 people die there.

I'm not going to be one of them.

Promise?

I promise. You must be exhausted, it's nearing 2AM there.

And I'm betting you didn't sleep at all.

Guilty as charged.

I'm rubbish without you. My schedule's all mucked. I keep turning over in bed reaching for you but you're not there.

Me too. We haven't slept apart for over twenty years.

Twenty years.

Don't cry, love.

How did you know?

I always know. We're going to be ok. We're always ok. We're Amy and Rory. You should get some rest. We'll talk soon.

Ok. I love you, Rory.

I love you too. I love you so much, Amy. See you on Tuesday.

See you on Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check out the old BBC website I mention its still up and running. Just type in whoisdoctorwho in Yahoo or Google.


	70. May 13, 1944

13th of May 1944

Dear Bracey,

I've got a request for you. I know you're busy and you've probably got loads of better things to do but you still have Churchill's ear don't you? If you do, I need a favor. I need you to ask him to write to me. Rory and I urgently need information and he's the only one we know who might be able to provide it. And yes, I realize that demanding the Prime Minister of Great Britain take time out of strategizing for a world war to speak with me is a tad presumptuous, but my brain just went, What the hell?!

Just tell him, Amy Pond has a word for him. Just one word and I think he'll know what it means.

Torchwood.

Thanks Bracey, I'll write to you soon.

Love,

Amy


	71. May 18, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: This is a bit random but apparently Churchill wanted to be there for the Normandy invasion. Like front and center accompanying the forces on one of the boats and then right there on the beach! He spoke to an Admiral Bertram Ramsay so that Ramsay could draw up strategic plans to make that happen. Poor Ramsay had to take this insane request to General Eisenhower. To paraphrase the Doctor, then things got "insanerer" because it took no less than an intervention by the King himself to get old Winston to stay home. There is your pointless historical fact of the day. It made me chuckle.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence Sir Winston S. Churchill to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

18th of May 1944

PRIVATE

10 Downing Street

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

You certainly know how to get one's attention, don't you? I stand poised to accompany our forces to what may prove one of the greatest and most decisive battles the modern world has ever seen. I have Admirals on hold and I am delaying a conversation with President Roosevelt all to write you this letter.

Torchwood. I have a hunch as to why you know that word and I fervently wish you didn't. If you're asking me, I must assume it is because the Doctor neglected to tell you about their existence and their origins.

I first met the Doctor when I was 25 years old. He was a maniacal, arrogant man in a ridiculous overcoat with a pattern mimicking a circus tent and an umbrella like a color wheel. Loud, caustic, short tempered, self-absorbed, stubborn and in general a horses arse. I liked him immediately. I was a newspaper correspondent covering the second Boer War. I'd already made my share of enemies due to my writing and the Doctor and his young companion Peri saved me from an assassin's bullet. We subsequently got to know one another a bit better as we served time in a Boer prison. I met his second incarnation some years later in the First Great War, he was so different and yet I knew him almost immediately. Something about those eyes, eh? I met the umbrella man again, oh and I also met the other young looking one. The tall fellow with the brown overcoat, I also knew him by his eyes. So, counting your Doctor I've met four different versions of him and I've liked every one of them. And each one of them has helped me out of one sticky situation or another. I trust the Doctor, Mrs. Pond Williams and I trust you because he did.

Because I trust you, I am going to tell you several things I shouldn't.

The Torchwood Institute was established in 1879 by Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria to protect the Empire from dangerous alien influences. Part of what she perceived as that dangerous alien influence was our friend the Doctor. She had an encounter with him of an undetermined nature, knighted him and then banished him from British soil. She saw to it that a group was established to research possible alien influences and threats, the Doctor and his kind were classified as enemies of the state. Torchwoods influence, some sixty years later has only grown. I understand they have had multiple off-world interactions, have acquired numerous alien technologies (which they have refused to contribute to the war effort) and they operate largely beyond both the government and the police. I have no influence over them, Mrs. Pond-Williams. Only his Majesty, King George has that power.

If you know their name, I must assume it is because they have made contact. If they have made contact, I fear you and your husband may be in grave danger. My power to offer you assistance is limited. What I can do is when I next meet with the King request that he make contact with Torchwood and express to them that you are not hostile, threatening or alien. Until then, keep a weather eye.

I will contact you as soon as time permits, either directly or through Bracewell. I wish you and Rory nothing but the best. Take care of yourself, dear Amy, these are dangerous times.

Keep Buggering On.

-Winston S. Churchill

 


	72. May 22, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of May 1944

My Dearest Rory,

I received a reply from Winston himself. Apparently Torchwood does indeed have a connection to the Doctor and not a very good one. He somehow managed to upset Queen Victoria (what is it with him and royalty, anyhow?) and she, let me get this right, knighted him and banished him all in the same breath. Torchwood was established to keep tabs on the Doctor. They consider all aliens, The Doctor and people who consort with him to be a threat. That means you and me. Winston said he thinks we're in danger and that if they've made contact with you they may be planning something.

Please, Rory, stay safe. And stay away from Harkness. Winston promised to speak to the King for us as he's the only one with the authority to call them off but beyond that he made no guarantees. I wish I was there with you. We've always had one anothers back. I hate being split apart like this. I'm keeping this short because I want you to read it and reply as soon as possible.

I love you.

See you on Tuesday.

 


	73. May 23, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of May 1944

My Dear Amy,

I ended up working a double shift at the hospital which is why I'm only now getting back to you. As I was making my rounds we had an emergency situation. One of the RAF boys had engine trouble, crashed and then had the misfortune of landing in the midst of mustard gas field trials. He was rushed to St. Thomas' but it was already too late. It wasn't the gas, sulfur mustard is very rarely fatal but he'd been badly burned in the wreckage. By the time I got to him there was nothing I could do. I called his time of death and left to immediately come and write to you.

Amy, I recognized him and we won't have to worry about Harkness anymore. I can't take joy in another's man death but...God, you know I would have saved him if I could. I know you know that but I just have to see it written down on paper for your benefit as well as mine. In any case, I don't think it means Torchwood will have lost interest but perhaps it will take them time to regroup. Perhaps they'll decide we're just not that important. In the meantime my last day here is tomorrow. I'm off to Slapton Sands.

Fourteen days until Normandy.

I imagine the eye roll I must get when I write this but, Don't worry about me, love. I'm alert, I'm ready and I'll be fine.

Can I also add just how cool it is to have a wife with connections to Churchill and by proxy the First Head of the Commonwealth, The Last Emperor of India, good old Bertie himself, King George. I don't tell you nearly enough, you're a remarkable woman.

I'll write soon, more than likely on the four hour jeep ride I have ahead of me. In the meantime, lets both try and get some sleep, ok?

I love you.

See you on Tuesday.

Love, Rory.


	74. June 6, 1944 D-Day (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
 **Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
 **Frequency: Intermittent**  
 **Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**  
  
June 6th, 1944

6:45 AM

This is my first opportunity to write in what feels like forever and it may be my last for awhile. All I've been able to manage for Amy are a few sentences here and there. My feeble attempt at soothing her nerves and her worry. She's told me she understands, she has the patience of a saint sometimes. But I still feel guilty.

We spent the past few days engaging in dry run after dry run, seeking nothing short of precision and perfection. And now here we are, riding on gray seas towards the coast of France, surrounded by massive flotillas and on either side of us and more bombers than I've ever seen above.

We'll make landfall in about an hour and a half. At least some of us will.

I am always nervous on the eve of war. It's never a quiet night for me. So of course here I sit, trying to comfort my men while also trying to calm my own mind. It's always at times like this I feel as though I'm surrounded by children. Scared boys playing at war games. They're all either taking quietly, vomiting loudly, writing letters and sending what they fear may be their last check home to their wives.

When I was young, properly young, joining the military had never, ever even been on my radar. It wasn't a consideration. 

But in Rome I learned and I learned quickly. More than that I grew to like it. The years I spent protecting the Pandorica made me battlehardened. To paraphrase Palahniuk, I started off as a wad of cookie dough and by the time it ended I was carved from wood.

The boys looked to me for answers and I offered them truth which they take as boastful confidence.

How do you think it's going to turn out, Doc?

We're going to win. This war will be over in not much more than a year.

You sound pretty sure of that, sir.

That's because I am.

They'd glance among themselves. For some of them this was good news, for others another year of this was horrific.

Do you have a sweetheart, sir?

A wife. Yes.

This is my girl.

Then they'd pull out a worn photo of a freshly scrubbed bright eyed young woman who had just as much idea of what she'd gotten herself into as her newlywed husband. That was Amy and I once.

She's very pretty. Stay sharp so you get to go home to her, understood?

Understood. Are you afraid, sir? They'd ask, tentative shame creeping into their eyes.

A very wise man once told me, anyone who isn't afraid at a time like this would be a fool. You're no fool, are you?

No, sir.

Well, that's sorted then, isn't it?

They'd smile then, at ease that I'd given them..what? Permission to be human.

Sometimes I'd tell them a story. I'd say it happened during my time in Shanghai when actuality it was around 1066 at The Battle of Hastings. I'd come upon a young man under my command on the verge of committing suicide. The Viking onslaught was preceded by their vicious and deserved reputation. The young man, boy really, Calidhaan could see no hope, no chance of victory and rather than prove himself unworthy before his death on the battlefield he thought it more fitting to die by his own hand. I soothed him and talked him down. I gave him hope. I told him that a misguided sense of honor was never a reason to give up on life.

What happened to Cal? They'd ask.

Cal came through. He fought through his fear. He fought with his fear and he lived. He went home, got married, I still get letters from him every now and then. He's doing great. Have faith, it's ok to be scared but don't let it command you. remember Cal.

How did the Doctor put it? That was a clever lie. Anyone could tell it was a clever lie.

Calidhaan was cleaved in two in battle by a broadsword. I saw it happen and by the time I found time to reclaim his body it had been trampled into unrecognizable gore by the hooves of advancing horses.

But who would that have inspired? Telling these tales left me feeling nauseous, it was like offal on my tongue.

And still as sick as I felt, I was eager and that sickened me all the more. Another part of me clicked awake during these times, I thought clearer, I moved faster, I anticipated two, three, ten steps ahead. I was good at this, no...actually I was great at this. I hated the truth that somehow, I was born for battle. I thrived in it and while the men around me watched the clock nervously I was looking at it in anticipation.

Glancing over their faces I wondered who among these boys wouldn't make it. Which ones of them would die before anything even truly started like Calidhaan?

I'll be 40 years old in nine months. The Korean War begins in six years at which time I'll be inching towards 50. Given that conscription cut off is 35, this in all likelihood will be my last great war. I both fear that and welcome it. My thoughts are so dark sometimes I dare not even tell Amy. I can't begin and wouldn't dream of presuming how the Doctor felt. I don't know if he felt the call and the confusion and the excitement and the terror and the self loathing all at the sight and notion of blood. But if he did, if I'm feeling even a sliver of what he dealt with on a daily basis, then my love and esteem for my best friend again grows beyond measure.

For now I wait. Helpless to do anything more than shuffle as many of them around this ship as I can, bring them as far away from the coming impact.

The low, bracing thud of the mine terrifies them.

I am already awake and on my feet.

 


	75. June 6, 1944 D-Day (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I couldn't make up my mind for the longest whether to write to you or to Rory. Ultimately I decided on you because he's living it, he won't need a play by play. But I need someone with me as this progresses. I need someone to wait with me.

Doctor, hold my hand.

Rory told me not to follow along via Wikipedia and accounts from the day but I can't help it. It's nearly 5 in the morning, Spartacus, is snoring loudly at my feet and I'm sitting here with about 12 browser windows opens switching from story to story to story of surviving soldiers. I'm on my 4th cup of coffee, maybe. I don't know, I've lost count but the shaking of my hands could certainly tell a tale. I couldn't sleep if my life depended on it.

It's a little before 10 AM where Rory is, gray and cold. The sea was rough when he landed and there was a haze coming in from off the channel both weather and smoke so thick it steered them off course. Some Allied forces had already arrived but they were nearly impossible to see as the fog closed densely in. Occasionally he should have been able to see the shores of Normandy, ships, tanks, small houses ablaze. The noise must have been deafening. The gun fire, the bombs, the shells, the plane engines.

Hold on Doctor, switching pages.

Someone in the same division as Rory recollects that a little after 8 a blast rocks the ship. The man telling this was a member of the Coast Guard and says that, "Me and about 30 other guys were hustling to the troop compartment when an officer I didn't recognize told us to hot foot it back to where we came. He said they needed us to unload the ramps for the tanks. A few us looked kind of confused but he said he was countermanding our orders and to get out of here, right now. One of the guys apparently did know him and said, "Ok, Doc." and we headed back the other way. Not two minutes after that we get thrown off our feet. Turns out we hit a German mine. We tried to get to our feet but got thrown down again when we struck a second one. All of a sudden all around me there was fire and shrapnel. It sliced into my face and my arm, I nearly lost my eye but me and the guys got off lucky. Everybody in that troop compartment where we were headed took the worst of it. They were trapped, it was like a fire bomb and they went up like kindling. if it hadn't been for that officer that would have been us. I don't know his name."

That was him wasn't it, Doctor? That was my Rory.

The mine blast apparently threw or throws, I'm struggling with my tenses here, everything into chaos. Men got blown into the water, badly burned, knocked unconscious and there's an unexpected amount of time needed to tend to the wounded. Screaming. Yelling. Confusion. Agony. I keep seeing these words over and over and over again. I should be grateful he's not on Omaha beach and I am. Those stories are even worse. The men tell of hunkering down in the water, crouching behind beach obstacles, wary of their own ship burning behind him and the snipers taking aim from the cliffs above. Trapped in the kill zone, their only hope is to wade out and reassemble in small groups elsewhere on the beach. Utah isn't as heavily defended, especially where they land and the fog that ends up putting them off course turns out to be a blessing in disguise.

And still I hate that he's there.

Spartacus is whining to go out and though I'm hesitant to leave I'm going to step away for awhile.

_6:25 AM_

I saw a stack of morning papers land outside a newsstand as Spartacus and I were out just now, Doctor.

The New York Times proclaims:

**ALLIED ARMIES LAND IN FRANCE IN THE HAVRE-CHERBOURG AREA GREAT INVASION IS UNDERWAY**

I picked up a copy but I haven't looked through it yet. It can't tell me anything I don't already know. It can't tell me what I need to know.

It should be almost 11:30 where Rory is and every account I read said they secure Utah beach by noon and then begin the 6 mile march to Cherbourg.

I pray he's ok. Nothing left to do now but wait as always.

_8:55 AM_

Doctor, I just got word from Rory. It was only a few lines but it appeared on the paper a moment ago. It was scrawled and lopsided and written in obvious haste but it was him.

 _Amy, I'm ok. Marching, exhausted, wary but ok. Shut off the computer and sleep, love. I know you haven't. Doctor's orders! More later. Love you. See you on Tuesday_.

For once I'm going to listen to one of you and try and go to bed.

Spare a happy thought for us.

Love across the stars, Doctor,

Amy


	76. June 7, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of June 1944

My Dearest Amy,

I'm safe. Completely knackered or cream-crackered as Dad used to say, filthy, a little scraped up but completely and utterly fine. At the moment I'm laying in a ditch but trust me it's not as bad as it sounds. We're taking a deserved rest, a few hours of sleep and then up again tomorrow morning advancing towards Cherbourg.

I'm sure you were keeping yourself up to date via the internet even though I asked you not to, so I'm going to assume you're familiar with the absolute chaos on the ship. I helped put out as many fires as I could, tended to the wounded and dressed their burns. But soon it was time to take the beach. We weren't nearly as close to shore as we had expected and we all ended up jumping into 10 to 15 feet of water. We lost our bearings immediately but eventually started to kick for shore. We paddled and swam, exhausted and flushed with adrenaline until we reached the pebbled beach. I've never been under that kind of fire before, bullets whizzing and pinging all around me, striking the water, ricocheting off our helmets, hitting the men. There was barely time to rest or breathe. We wove in and out of the obstruction beams and Rommel asparagus and I ordered the men to take cover behind the seawall. We lost a few just in that moment, struck down by machine gun fire, joining the bodies that already lay upon the sand, that would be washed out to sea when the tide came in. The first order of business was to guide our three artillery batteries into firing position. Next we needed to clear a path for the infantry, I called for minesweepers to patrol the bare areas that were almost certainly planted and booby-trapped with explosives.

The German forces neglected to clear good fields of fire but they were prepared with fortified pillboxes, bunkers, mortar pits, rocket launching sites. I have to admit there were moments when I wasn't sure if I was going to ever get off the beach. It felt like hell. It felt like limbo.

The 82nd and 101st Airborne was screaming above us. Waco gliders. Horsa's. Paratroopers landing all around us. Supply boxes. Amphibious and armored tanks. It was organized madness.

I stopped when I could to take care of the wounded, becoming more field medic than doctor. I bandaged them up, got them moving, told them to crawl or dragged them to cover when it was possible, all the while trying to move my men forward, out of the kill zone.

Everything today was so random, so arbitrary. It isn't as if I haven't seen it before but one moment I'd be talking to someone and the next they'd take a bullet between the eyes. There's no God here, Amy. There's nothing but the brutality and the blind luck of life and death. What they don't tell you is that war isn't just this calculated game of advancing or retreating, gaining and losing ground. It's about terrible mistakes and fortuitous blunders. It's about rifles that jam and M-1's exploding in your hand. It's about sliding doors and an inch to the right or left being the difference between you or your dog tags making it back home.

Oh, God, have I said too much? I'm sorry, Amy, I'm sorry. But sometimes I think if I don't tell you the truth you'll imagine far worse. My rifle did jam at one point but I tossed it and picked up a carbine and forged on.

After what felt like hours we got far enough to have reached the cliff face and the daunting hills. From there we had to climb or crawl was more like it. We'd trained for it, it wasn't a surprise but that didn't make it any easier. Second and Third waves stormed the beaches behind us and I knew the shells flying over our heads were landing on or near them. We didn't know what we'd find at the top and I halted them just before we cleared the ridge. We waited, rested for a moment and another man and I went on ahead before giving them the all clear.

From there we were confronted with the strange and odd incongruity of nature, it continues on despite the carnage around it. We found ourselves in a field, spacious green, with birds singing overhead though they could barely be heard over the explosions.

We're pushing inland, ever inland, driving the Germans back. But for now, we rest.

There was another incident, Amy, but before I tell you I don't want you to worry. I promise you everything is fine, weird, but fine and I do have a story to tell you. Not now, I'm too exhausted and frankly I don't know all of it yet.

I think we were wrong about something.

As I was climbing the cliff, near the very top I lost my footing. It was a stupid, stupid mistake on my part. I probably wouldn't have died, but I might have been badly injured. Instead a man I hadn't even known was there reached over the top, grabbed me by the arms and pulled me to safety.

I was about to thank him when he said two words. Just two.

Hello, handsome.

Amy I'm fine, and I swear I'm not intentionally leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I'm exhausted. I'm going to close my eyes for an hour or two and then we're right back at it.

I will write you as soon as I can.

I love you more than anything and I will see you on Tuesday.

For now, both you and I need sleep.

Love,

Rory


	77. June 12, 1944

PRIVATE

10 Downing Street

12 of June 1944

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

The Liberation of Europe has begun! As you have now no doubt heard the Allies are besting Hitler's army and driving them deeper towards the interior. We anticipate a free France by months end. I had wished to watch this great theater from the  _HMS Belfast_ but was convinced by Admiral Ramsay that it was best to remain safely ashore.

But now, some six days after our boys stormed the shores of Normandy I am touring our successes on the beachhead. The sun is shining, and I cannot help but feel the tide has inexorably turned in our favor.

To the matter that most concerns you. I spoke to His Majesty towards the end of May and was assured by him that he would dispatch brief correspondence to Torchwood immediately. If all went as planned, you should have no further trouble from them.

I must now regrettably cut this letter short. You and your husband remain in my thoughts.

KBO.

Yours,

Winston S. Churchill


	78. May 20, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curators Note: Though they are not mentioned by name, we have every reason to believe this is the correspondence referred to by Sir Winston Churchill regarding Doctor Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams. While we do not have the original letter we have been able to provide this draft. We consider it an especially treasured selection in this already remarkable series of letters. While chronologically out of order an executive decision was made to place it where it best fit in the narrative. We wish to make it clear we are not reading this correspondence, this was a discrepancy noted by our computers. If this was an incorrect choice then we most humbly beg the Doctor's pardon.

 

 

It has come to our attention that two individuals have recently found themselves under your surveillance. All attempts to contact, capture, interrogate or neutralize will cease. They are not a threat. They are citizens of the Empire and remain under the protection of the Crown.

We trust that in this, as in all things, you will obey.

-George R.I.

May 1944


	79. June 17, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18 of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I only hear from Rory now in short burst. Dribs and drabs of messages that say,

I'm ok.

Finally at St. Lo

Reached Ste. Mere-Eglise.

Arrived at La Madeleine.

I miss you. I love you. I miss you.

I want more, I crave more from him and I find myself checking what seems like every few minutes.

I write back to him in quick messages as well. I don't want to drone on and run the risk of distracting him. I mostly tell him to stay safe, be careful and how much I love him.

This is one of the reasons why you shouldn't travel alone, Doctor. I couldn't live without these short messages from Rory and he from me. You need someone to touch base with, someone to care about you, someone to tell you they love you. I hope Clara looks after you. I know Melody does. But since it never hurts to say it, I love you too.

I've started having Sunny over for tea every now and then. I even apologized to her for neglecting her so. After all she needs me too but she'd have none of it.

You're worried about Rory, I understand. It's the same way I was...

She trails off then, unable to finish the sentence and I hug and comfort her as best I can.

I feel strange lying to her but I don't have a choice. She likes to hear Rory's letters and I have to pretend that they arrive in the post. I have to feign frustration with the Victory mail censorship and delays. I have to make sure I have a stack of ready-to-send envelopes visible when she arrives so it looks like I'm writing to him faithfully and quickly before the postman arrives at three so I can send my latest off.

It reminds me of just how lucky I am. Luckier than any other wife waiting to hear from her husband. Then of course I feel terrible for my frustration at only getting a word of two from him everyday. How quickly we slip into complacency, Doctor. How fast we slide down into being ungrateful. I'm working on it, believe me.

I read her Rory's letters, censoring as I go along and it feels nice, it feels good to speak in his voice and hear his words fill the flat again.

How did you meet? Sunny asks me and I realize it's never come up before. I think we're just so naturally secretive, Doctor, he and I don't even think about it anymore.

I struggle to think of the American equivalent before answering.

In first grade.

She beams at me. People always think that's cute.

Love at first sight?

Oh, God, no! I saved him from some bullies. He seemed nice enough so I thought we should be friends.

You saved him? She asked with amusement.

Yeah, but trust me, he's made up for it ten-fold.

So you've been friends forever then?

Yeah, just about. I think that's part of why we work, why we've almost always worked, because we're friends.

Was there ever anyone else?

I pause. How to answer? How do I ever answer this question?

There was! She exclaims conspiratorially.

I smile, happy the gossip has broken her out of the doldrums temporarily. And also I'm just happy to remember.

Yes, there was. He stole me away for awhile...or I let myself be stolen.

Was he handsome?

Very.

Was he big and strong?

Forgive me, Doctor but I started giggling at that.

No, he was actually really thin and gangly and awkward. Terrible dresser and even worse dancer.

She makes a face but I continue on, imagining I'm soothing your affronted feelings. Even though I know you'd only be pretending.

He didn't look like your typical big brute of a strong guy like Burt Lancaster.

Who?

Sorry, guess he's a couple years out. Um...but he was smart and cool and collected and clever, he was so very clever.

At that point she leaned closer and lowered her tone. The kids were playing in the other room but I had a feeling she would have done it whether they were there or not.

Did you and he...?

I must have blushed because she clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. I laughed along with her. I'm almost 40 and you still make me blush.

It was a very long time ago.

Does Rory know?

Yes, he knows. No secrets between Rory and I.

Was he older than you.

Yeah, by a bit.

It's always the older guys who can turn a head isn't it?

They can indeed.

So what happened?

Oh, lots of stuff. A lot of back and forth, a lot of pushing and pulling.

Did they fight over you?

Something like that, yeah.

What finally helped you make up your mind?

I realized it's always been Rory. It will always be Rory. I chose him in the way that he always chose me.

I think you made the right choice.

I know did.

Do you ever think about the other guy? What was his name?

John. John Smith.

Do you ever think about John?

I pause again. How to answer? I offer her the only semi honest response that she'll understand.

Every now and then. Mostly I just hope he's ok.

Is he fighting in the war?

He's off fighting somewhere.

Did you love John?

A final pause.

Yes. I loved John. Let me freshen up your tea.

You see Doctor, I've started bringing conversations to a close just like you used to. I try to be a little more delicate but there is the definite clang of a gate crashing down, signaling I'm done talking about this.

Sunny took it in stride and we changed subjects.

I like having her here, she's my mate and it's a distraction from waiting for the next word from Rory.

The first few days I was driving myself crazy about this Harkness business. I thought, it's just Rory's strange luck to have made it through D-Day and then get cut down by a...what? Vigilante? Assassin? Alien hunter? Writing it down makes it look even more ridiculous than just thinking it.

I can only assume Rory was mistaken that day in the hospital. He thought it was Harkness who died. But he said himself he was badly burned. That's an easy enough mistake. But why is he there, right there to 'save' Rory? What are the odds of that? I trust Winston. I trust Torchwood was told to back off. Most of all I trust Rory. He keeps telling me everything is ok, weird but ok. Like I said, I trust him, but things won't be ok until he's back here safe and sound with me.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love,

Amy

 


	80. June 19, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this was pretty hard to write. Mainly because I want to release information from Jack to Rory and vice versa very, very slowly. I kept going back and forth about what I wanted each of them to say. I think its alright but I'm not sure. I don't know, I'm nervous about about setting my own canon down in stone. But, eventually you just have to bite the bullet and post.
> 
> Also, I'm taking a little deviation. (Well, it's a deviation to the best of my knowledge. Confession: I haven't actually seen Torchwood yet. I'm saving it for a time when I inevitably contract Swine Flu or Smallpox or Mad Cow and have to be quarantined in bed for a few days. Then I'll happily watch all four seasons and maybe by then Davies will have started filming a 5th. So what I know about Jack outside of DW comes from the TARDIS Wiki) Basically my idea is that Jack would be pissed with the Doctor. Like really pissed, I mean he left him. He knew he was there and alive and he left him anyways as he admits in "The Parting of Ways".
> 
> "That's why I left you behind. It's not easy, just looking at you, Jack. 'Cause you're wrong."
> 
> To quote River, That's cold, even by his standards, that is cold. He abandoned because he made him feel oogy. Really?
> 
> Now, Jack doesn't know for sure that he purposefully stranded him, but he has reason to suspect. He had like 100 plus years to get over it and by TPOW's he is at peace. BUT I still think he'd be incredibly upset and bitter initially.
> 
> Ok, enough blather. Hope you like it. Allons-y!

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams and The Doctor**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

19th of June 1944

Dear Amy and Doctor,

I couldn't decide which one of you to write to so I finally settled upon both. I don't truly know where to start but even though I don't know how much time I'll have to finish this letter I'm inclined to start at the beginning.

Where did I leave off? I assume with, Hello, handsome.

He dragged me over the cliff and I just stared at him for a few seconds.

Ok, he was dead.

Now he wasn't.

I can accept that.

No time to think about it now.

Into position. Get behind me, Harkness.

In a different situation that would be the perfect sentence.

Harkness, now!

He did as I said and we made our way through the grassy fields of the French countryside. We went for nearly four hours before getting the opportunity to speak again. We took shelter behind a farmhouse but I knew we couldn't stay there long. After a roll call, a check of my men and bandaging up some superficial injuries, I was able to return to him

If you're here to help, keep your rifle handy and follow my orders. If you're not, then run back to the RAF. And if you're here to kill me, could you at least wait until I get my men to Cherbourg? I have a responsibility to them.

I'm not going to kill you, Rory. And technically, given the fact that we're in combat, you outrank me, so I'll follow your orders...sir.

I gave him a curt nod and we continued on.

Things sort of went on like that, there wasn't really time to stop and chat until we hunkered down in ditches and foxholes for the evening. I was exhausted but still incredibly curious.

How old are you, Rory?

39.

No, I mean how old are you really?

I doubt you'd believe me if I told you.

Then lets start with something simple, where were you born?

You first.

He sighed, finally realizing I was not one to give much ground.

Boeshane Peninsula, it's an earth colony in the 51st century.

He waited, expecting some sort of reaction from me but I just catalogued the information and nodded. Of course inside I was reeling.

Leadworth, it's a little village, not far from Cardiff.

I know where Leadworth is.

Late 20th century. 1989 to be exact.

I glanced at him but he only nodded. In a card game where we were both playing things so close to the vest I wondered if anything real would ever get revealed.

How did you get here? I asked.

I was abandoned. He answered bitterly. You?

Weeping Angel.

In Leadworth?

In Manhattan. My wife and I were there in 2023 and we got zapped back.

He furrowed his brow.

There are worse ways to go, I suppose. But that's it? That can't be the entirety of the story.

Why do you say that?

Like I said, I scanned you, Rory. You're not new to this whole time travel thing. In fact you're a rather complicated space/time event. In  _fact_ you're bursting with residual vortex energy. To some species or just to people who knew what to look for, you practically glow in the dark. Your wife is rather impressive too, but she's a nightlight compared to you. An Angel doesn't do that.

What do you know about my wife? I was suddenly so frightened for you Amy I didn't know what to do.

We scanned her as well. One of our operatives bumped into her while she was at a market in Manhattan. Resulted in nothing more than a bruised tomato or two on her end but we got the reading we needed.

I'm telling you this once, only once and trust me, I am not a man accustomed to repeating myself. If you don't stay away from my wife, I will kill you myself. What I kill stays dead.

He only smiled. He didn't look scared at all. In fact he looked at me admiringly.

Nothing about you makes sense, Rory. Everything I can see was put together like some sort of strange puzzle. Does that bother you? That your life doesn't fit? I guess not, you seem to have come to terms with it impressively.

At my raised voice my men stirred around me with hushed choruses of, Easy, sir. And, Maybe you should just back off, Captain and leave the Doc alone.

It's alright, guys. Get some sleep. I said but I never took my eyes off Harkness and he continued. It was stupid and dangerous to let my anger take over like this. I was putting everyone in jeopardy. Harkness continued in a hushed tone.

That's another reason why your Angel story doesn't gel. You have a history, a very detailed history that would require a very talented forger to manufacture. Pre-manufacture as a matter of fact. Not to mention your wife apparently has the ear of the Prime Minister and the King. Torchwoods official orders are to stand down and not just now, but in perpetuity. The others might have missed that very carefully crafted sentence but I didn't. 'They remain under the protection of the Crown.' How did two kids from a one stoplight town in the future manage all that?

Who abandoned you here? I countered.

His jaw tightened.

A selfish bastard. An asshole, through and through. But I wasn't abandoned here. I made it  _back_  here and now I'm stuck... for the time being.

So you hunt aliens?

He chuckled softly.

Not exactly. I investigate things and I try to help when I can. I'm not even officially with Torchwood at the moment. I'm a free agent. Right now I am exactly what I appear to be, a pilot in the RAF...at least for the time being. You don't seem all that impressed that I'm back from the dead.

My wife, my best mate and myself have all managed it. I said dryly. I guess in my old age I'm getting a little harder to impress.

Pardon? Now he was the one who looked curious.

Nothing.

How long have you been here?

About five years now and you?

I got here in 1869 so...75.

I looked at this young man who couldn't be more than 30 something, maybe 35.

It occurred to me the impossible things we were whispering to each other out in the open and I needed to bring it to a stop.

I need to write my wife and turn in. Long day tomorrow.

Understood.

So, are you sticking around?

Yes, sir.

Then get some rest, Doctors orders.

He paused and seemed to be considering something.

Let me amend an earlier statement. I said I was abandoned by an asshole. That's more of a personal opinion not a general one. He's not what Torchwood says he is but he's also not what his fucking fans say he is either. All the people who fawn and keen over having met him...none of them get it.

Anything you say. I replied noncommittally. I did my best to sound disinterested.

Amy, I realize both of you are probably wondering why I haven't mentioned the Doctor. I just don't want to tip our hand. Is it a hand? I don't even know. I wanted to know what he knew first.

How did you even know what a Weeping Angel was? Harkness had rolled over facing away from me when he asked this over his shoulder.

My wife and I worked for Unit. Under Kate Stewart. I said quickly. It was the most convincing lie I could come up with.

Harkness nodded, it seemed to satisfy him.

There's more. A lot more but I really have to get some sleep.

I love you both.

Amy, I'll see you Tuesday.


	81. June 20, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of June 1944

Dear Rory,

Don't trust him. Just don't. I remember this woman bumping into me at the market not that long ago. I didn't think much about it and she was polite and apologetic but now...it just gives me chills.

Maybe whoever 'abandoned' him had good cause. I know you're not naive and I do trust you, but sometimes I wish you'd just stop giving people the benefit of the doubt. You're just so  _nice_. I know, I know and I'm so Scottish. Tease me all you like but I'm less interested in the mystery of who this man is and more concerned with getting you back home. Think about all we've seen Rory. We're probably surrounded with people and aliens from the future all the time. And yet the world still turns and I still need you back with me.

I know what you're thinking. It crossed my mind too. What if he knew the Doctor. But I just don't think its likely. The past. The future. The present. They're all pretty big places and I know the Doctor is pretty big too but he's just one man. Plus, it wouldn't be  _our_ Doctor.

Enough about Harkness for the moment. How are you? Are you ok? Everything I've read online says that Cherbourg is madness, empty streets, hollowed and burned out buildings, an entire city terrified and gutted by the Nazi's. I know you win, but just be careful.

I miss you. I know you know that, but how could I not say it? It isn't easy sleeping alone, waking up suddenly in the night and thinking you're there only to find the other side of the bed empty. I've been thinking a lot about us lately. Maybe it's the business with Harkness. Maybe its because I know what's happening right now in Germany, in the camps. I know what the world is soon to find out. Maybe its just because I miss you and Melody and the Doctor.

But whatever it is, whatever the reason, I want us to embrace life and expand our family. We talked about adoption before you left but, then we sort of tucked the brochures away. I understand, I think you knew this was coming. I think you knew you'd be away and either we'd get halfway through the process and have to stop, or we'd make it all the way through and I'd be here raising our child by myself or maybe you were just afraid something would happen to you over there...

No matter what the reason or whatever was holding us back before, this is me saying yes. I want to do it. I don't care about the age or the race. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, I don't care about the nationality, the religion, I don't care about any of it and I know you don't either. None of it matters. The only thing that does matter is you and I having a child...maybe even children like we planned. I think Melody is mature enough to handle a little brother or sister, don't you?

If you're getting back on Tuesday then I want to get started on Wednesday. I don't want to wait any longer.

Ok, just wanted to get that off of my chest and maybe give us something else to look forward to.

I know you must be surrounded by death. I wanted you to remember and think about  _life_.

What do you say to that?

Oh and in case you forgot, because you are a might busy, five days until our 15th wedding anniversary. Fifteen years of being married, Mr. Pond, and thirty three years together.

I think we're making a go of it, don't you?

I love you.

See you on Tuesday,

Amy

 


	82. June 23, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of German begins and ends with my ability to correctly pronounce Oktoberfest. if any of this is wrong and God knows it probably is, blame google translation. I would however be happy to edit it correctly if any of you want to help.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams and The Doctor**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of June 1944

Dear Amy,

YES! Yes to adoption! Yes to getting started the moment I get back! Yes to one child or twenty! Ok, maybe not twenty, but I'd be willing to go to a soft twelve leaving room for negotiation for the remaining eight. I don't think I could have read better news. Thank you, love. You're right it does help to have something life affirming to look forward to. Not that you're not more than enough. I'm excited, grinning from ear to ear even. This will be our contribution to the baby boom!

We are finally in Cherbourg. It's been storming non-stop for the past four days and there doesn't appear to be an end in sight. From where I stand the whole world looks gray, the contrast from whence we came, the lovely pastoral danger of the outskirts of the Coetentin Peninsula, is stark.

Aerial bombardment began yesterday as Hitler has recalled his troops from fields, cliffs and bunkers to the core of the city. It's having little effect. They're well dug in and it concerns me. We're advancing, moving in and out of houses and flats. Bursting in on terrified families to shoot through the glass from their broken windows. I barely have time to think of how we must look to them, another invasion, another violation, another horde, not even bothering to promise freedom or help. Too exhausted, too tired, too redlined to answer their frightened stares with comfort.

A German soldier appeared a few hours ago waving a white flag and calling out, Waffenrhue! Waffenrhue! I ordered my men to stand down and cautiously approached him.

His request was simple enough.

Ersparen Sie dem Krankenhaus, bitte.

Wir brauchen blut.

Spare the hospital, please.

We need blood.

I told him I was a doctor and would radio in to stop the shelling of the hospital. We gave him plasma and sent him back with a letter requiring complete and unconditional surrender. He couldn't have been more than 17.

There isn't much more to tell. We eat when we can. We rest rarely. Getting to write to you is the highlight in an otherwise unrelentingly grim day.

The sounds of the bombing are relentless, day and night. We had taken over a small part of the town, driving the Germans further inward. Shells are keeping them at bay as my men and I take a well deserved rest in several burnt out flats. I settled into one with Jack and we fell back into conversation.

What's your wife's name again?

Amy.

How did she adjust to 1939.

Well. She's amazing. A lot stronger than I am.

Any kids?

A daughter. Melody.

You didn't mention her being zapped back with you. She must be pretty young. Four? Five? Six?

I didn't say anything to that.

Must be hard to leave her.

It's always hard to leave them. What about you?

I had a girl, Estelle. We recently split up, it's for the best. You can't expect someone to wait for you forever.

No...no I suppose not. So where is Boeshane?

A planet called Parivia. Sandy, grassy not much to look at but it was home for awhile at least. Were you guys in Manhattan on holiday?

No...we were there on assignment from UNIT. Something completely unrelated to the Weeping Angels, but isn't that always the way.

I've never really known UNIT to employ husband and wife teams.

Times change.

That they do.

So if you were born in 1989 you were too young to fight in Panama, the Gulf War or Sierra Leone which only leaves Somalia or Iraq, maybe the Syrian war of 2014. But I think UNIT would have snapped you up by then. So that's too easy. A few days ago I saw you use a formation attack pattern almost identical to Hannibal at the Battle of Trebia. They don't teach that in medical school or UNIT of the British Army. Hell, they don't teach that anywhere.

I admit, I laughed. I was becoming a little more at ease with him.

You're never going to figure it out, Jack.

That's the first time you've called me Jack. Are we becoming friends, Rory?

Best not to ask. It spoils the moment. So, Torchwood. What is it?

UNIT should have been well aware.

Sorry mate, didn't have that kind of clearance. Above my pay grade.

OK, Torchwood. Established in the 19th century at the behest of Queen Victoria. Now, you see old Vicki got spooked by an alien encounter she had and it opened her eyes to the big bad universe that was out there. So in an effort to protect the Commonwealth she setup Torchwood to keep watch over the skies and Englands interests.

So you're the good guys, then?

I think you know by now there are no real good guys. Oh there are bad guys, easy to identify, clear-cut bad guys. But the supposed good ones like to exist in that grey area. There are no White Hats. Not really.

So, you're not a good guy then. Why should I trust you?

Maybe you shouldn't.

He paused before continuing.

Are you a good guy, Rory? What I kill stays dead. Isn't that what you said the other day?

When I didn't answer he went on.

No, I'm not a good guy. I've done awful things. Terrible things. I'm a con man and thief, I've killed people, on purpose and by accident, some deserved it and some didn't.

So what exactly do you do for Torchwood?

Like I said, I'm freelance. I just sort of travel around, looking for things to investigate. Helping out if and when I can and essentially biding my time.

Were you sent to investigate me?

He laughed.

No, actually. I walked into my current, favorite pub and saw a good looking G.I. and I thought, Hey, I'm single and he's alone why not try and have a little Pre-D-Day fun.

Didn't notice the ring?

Didn't care. It's never really mattered much before. But then I saw the paper and I had to put my libido on hold. Got in touch with the base to have them do a little investigating.

What did they find?

I already told you what they found. A very well organized, padded history. Except I didn't tell you everything. Some of the changes had been recent. I thought you said you were stuck here.

So...immortal are we? I said attempting to change the subject.

I like you Rory, I like the way you put things. Yeah, it seems like it. The not aging thing was the first clue, but believe me I wasn't complaining. The next thing that really helped cement it was when I got shot, point blank, in the chest on Ellis Island.

Did it hurt?

Uh, yeah I got  _shot_. In the  _chest_. Anyways, I figured that was the end and what a lackluster way to go out. But, the next morning, I woke up. I started clawing at my gown to see my chest, looking for a bruise, a scar, a bloody, gaping hole but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't know what to make of it. Neither did the hospital staff. I've made some ladies scream in my time, Rory, but none quite as loud or long as the nurse when she caught me walking out of the morgue. I hightailed it out of there and just looked for a place to gather my thoughts.

And you don't know what caused it?

No idea. Last thing I recall is standing face to eyestalk with three Daleks and they're not big on mercy. Ever met a Dalek?

I've met my fair share, yeah. I think I met all of them...once.

He looked at me, studying me again.

I assumed I was going to die. I was ready to die, at least as much as anyone can be. But I didn't. I just woke up.

Then what happened. After Ellis Island, I mean.

Well, I wanted to test it. I threw myself into as many sure-death situations as I could but eventually it became undeniable. I'm never going to die. So what better place to be than in the middle of one of the bloodiest wars in history. I mean, if you're in the past you might as well live through it, right? Is that why you're here?

Me? No, hell I got drafted.

No kidding.

I was living a quiet life with my wife, working at hospital, biding my time until I could open a private practice. But they called my number and I couldn't get out of it. Though sometimes...I think maybe I wasn't supposed to get out of it.

Fate?

Hardly. I don't believe in fate.

I watched as Jack settled down onto an old mattess that if it were possible, looked even more uncomfortable than mine.

Then we're on the same page. There's no one out there looking out for us.

Now, I didn't say  _that_.

Come on, Rory. You have me at a disadvantage. I've been much more forthcoming with you than I usually am but I don't know a thing about your life. UNIT won't exist for another twenty plus years so you can't break any directives that haven't been written yet. Tell me one thing, in the spirit of friendship.

I regarded him in the darkness. I could only make out his features because of the moon and he looked sincere enough.

I sighed and layed down upon my mattress.

You asked me how old I am. In a manner of speaking...in a  _way_...I am 1,947 years old. But I usually just round up to 2,000. It's easier for people to grasp. Goodnight, Jack.

He tried to get me to say more but I was done for the night.

Don't worry about him, Amy and don't worry about me. I'm ok. It does make my heart happy that you still think of me as nice. Sometimes it's hard for me to think of myself that way.

As for our anniversary, of course I didn't forget! I'm sorry we have to spend it apart but I will do my absolute best to be available so we can chat. Next year we're going to have a big to do. Dinner, Dancing, Wining and Dining and some of the best shagging you've ever had. I see no reason to be proper when we're on the most secure channel there is. I miss you, I love you and all the wonderful, amazing, whimsical, weird, pouty, funny, Scottish things about you, but blimey, I miss your body too. It hasn't even been three months and I'm already going a little mad. Ok, since a fire fight in the midst of German occupied France is not conducive to wanking I'm going to cut this short and think about cold showers.

I love you, Mrs. Pond-Williams and lest you forget, you're sexy as hell.

I'm safe. I'm sound. Don't worry and I'll talk to you soon.

See you on Tuesday,

Rory


	83. June 24, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

Quite in spite of myself, I like Jack. He's smart, he's fast, he's a good fighter, quick with a gun, all in all he seems like he'd be excellent to have around. But I can also imagine why you might not like him. There's also a callousness, a streak of it that I both fear and understand. In the beginning, I tried to hide that part of myself from you. Somehow I imagined you might find it disappointing. He's also reckless. But it's the kind of reckless that comes from realizing the years are stretching out in front of you, bleeding into the horizon. It's natural, I think.

He's also angry. That's one of the reasons I think you may know him. Forgive me, Doctor, but theres a very specific sort of anger that you engender. Not from me, love. Not anymore. Not for a very, very long time. But he's seen a lot of death and as I believe his story to be true, he's in for a lot more. Death makes you angry, Doctor as I know you know.

This morning our chaplain was struck and mortally wounded by a German shell. His name was Father Jerry May. I liked Jerry. He was a good man, kind, funny and brave as hell for someone doing all the same things we were doing minus a gun and with the morale of the men on his shoulders. We carried his body to a burned out, shell of a building and I knelt near him and held his hand.

That's a good lad, Jerry." I said smiling down at him, trying to offer some comfort in these last moments.

He grinned back up at me through blood stained teeth.

I'm older than you, Doc. Haven't been a "lad" in some time. I always wanted to ask, why you never called me Father?

I don't know. Maybe because I'm an arse. I should have respected your title. I always respected you. You don't have to talk anymore. I won't leave you.

He coughed thickly but shook his head, no.

I like talking. Kind of afraid to stop, if you don't mind.

The other men were gathered around in muted respect and I leaned close to him. There was nothing medically I do for him. His injuries were too severe.

Do you want me to hear your confession? I asked him quietly.

It doesn't work that way, Doc.

I beg to differ, James 5:16. Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another so that you may be healed.

A biblical scholar? He asked and I could hear the sick burbling as blood filled his chest.

Something like that.

I didn't want to do this in front of everyone and Jack but I felt like I had little choice.

Come on, Jerry. I'm afraid we don't have much time, mate.

I appreciate the effort, Doc... he started coughing again and I squeezed his hand tighter before starting to rifle through the small pack he carried around his waist. I removed a canister, and popped it open to reveal the fifty or so eucharists kept inside.

And yes, Doctor, before you ask, I felt like a hypocrite. A terrible one. But this wasn't about me or what I believe, this was about Jerry.

Bit rusty but I think you'll both forgive me. Are you sorry for having offended God, with all the sins of your past life?

Jerry looked at me wide eyed, almost disbelieving but there must have been something in my gaze, something confident and very, very old that made him trust me, vestments or not.

Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum..." He continued on in a rush, using some of his last precious breaths to finish the prayer.

Ego to abslovo in nomine patris, et filli, et spiritus sancti." I responded from memory. Fishing out one of the wafers I placed it on his tongue saying "Corpus Christi." before using an oil soaked cotton ball I found among his things to hastily anoint his forehead.

Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quid per visum, audtiotum, odorátum, gustum et locutiónem, tactum, gressum deliquisti. Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, Eleison. By the Faculty which the Apostolic See has given me, I grant you a plenary indulgence for the remission of all your sins, and I bless you. In the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Sprit. Amen.

Thank you...Father. he said weakly. By his face he looked at peace.

Take your burden heavenwards to the sight of the Most High. Godspeed, Father.

I always knew you had a lot of secrets, Doc. I wish... I'd gotten to... know you-

And then he was gone.

I sighed deeply and closed his vacant eyes. Several of my men were staring at me but I avoided their questions and their eyes. Standing, I ordered three of them to take the body back towards the makeshift infirmary that was being set up near the outskirts of town.

The sun was setting, the shelling and bombardments were growing fewer and farther between. It was actually just an ugly fluke that Jerry had been so struck. The city would be ours within days and Jack and I resumed our nightly ritual of discussion.

So you're a priest too? he asked.

I was a monk, an Abbot, actually. Abbe Wilhelm. But that was a long time ago. However as I did take the Orders I was...am...I'm not sure honestly, able to administer the Sacraments. Ex opere operato. If the form is properly executed it retains its validity. If not, the sin, were there such a thing, is on my head not Jerry's.

Wilhelm? I thought you were Williams

Old German of Williams. It means protection. I've gone through quite a few names in my day.

I know what you mean. I didn't peg you as the type. I certainly didn't think you were religious much less a true believer who wore the collar.

I was never a true believer, Jack. I'm still not. I was simply in a situation where I did what I had to do. That goes for joining the order and helping Jerry along today. I do what is required of me.

Well, now I feel weird for having hit on a priest.

No you don't. I chuckled.

No, you're right, I don't. I only felt like I should say it.

There was a sudden explosion off to our right and the sound of raised German voices.

Jack and I stopped our minimal preparations for bed and took our places in the window, rifles in hand. Tonight, it seemed, wouldn't be so quiet after all.

So what happened? I showed you mine, you show me yours, why were you immortal?

Shenanigans. I said. Pay attention, keep your eyes east.

Do you get off on being cryptic?

It's a long story, Jack. It's a never-was story. The past isn't nearly as important as the future.

I don't know much about the Weeping Angels but can't UNIT bring you back?

Nope, this is home. Until the end of our days.

Combatants at 9 and 12 o'clock.

I seem them.

I don't expect they'd care much anyways. UNIT, I mean. Torchwood wouldn't care.

If you don't like them why do you work for them?

They tortured me into it.

He seemed to be expecting something but I just waited for him to continue.

Most people would chuckle at that.

I didn't think it was funny. Were you making a joke?

No. No, I wasn't. They discovered I was...I'm still uncomfortable with the word immortal. They discovered I was what I am and they tortured me, trying to get information. I told them I wanted nothing to do with their organization. I left but after some soul searching and an answer that my ride wasn't going to be here for a hundred years or so I eventually agreed to join up with them. Torchwood was ruthless, Rory. Cruel, shortsighted, xenophobic, ignorant. But I'm doing my best to change things, from the inside out. We need good people, strong people, smart people who actually have an undamaged moral compass. People like you.

Look alive, men. This doesn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. Dig in and keep your eyes moving. I ordered them before returning to addressing Jack. You think I have an undamaged moral compass?

Yeah, I do. I'm not just a mercenary I'm also a recruiter. What do you think, Rory? I'm rebuilding Torchwood from the bottom up, have been for years. I think you and your wife might prove to be a strong allies. I know you've got a small child but we can work around that.

Amy and I were strong allies for years. I think we just want to live quietly now.

You think but you don't know.

The report of the rifles and shells and miscellaneous gunfire was making it nearly impossible to be heard and we found ourselves shouting at one another.

Jack continued.

Come VE day I think you'll realize how much you're gonna miss this. The fighting, the running.

Maybe. Doubtfully. Reforming an institution from the bottom up can't be easy.

It isn't, but I've been working on it for the better part of a century. I owe it to someone to see it through.

The same someone who abandoned you?

Yeah, as a matter of fact.

The Germans seemed intent on making a final push forward, In the darkness I saw them swarm out from a building like roaches.

My men, Jack and I fired round after round but they were desperate and reckless and willing to take chances they wouldn't normally.

Just before I gave orders for us to move out and fall back. Just before the flash genade blinded us. Just before Jack was shot by a sniper between the eyes, I heard him ask one final question.

Rory, have you ever heard of someone called The Doctor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just a regular old heathen, kind of like Rory, so it took a lot of searching and deciphering of the Sancta Missa and a complete Latin to English translation on fisheaters dot com to get the Last Rites correct. Or as close to correct as I could manage.


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just off the top of my head I'm recalling at least three Who episodes where Jack came back to life. The third time in, I believe, Journeys End was pretty fast. The second time, in Utopia was about medium and the first time after Rose brought him back seemed to take a while. Essentially, I'm going with the idea that different trauma causes different recovery times SO for my purposes a bullet to the brain may take a little longer. I need Jack dead long enough for he and Rory to separated. Yes, I'm afraid we're bidding goodbye to the Captain for the time being. But you can bet he'll be back. I promise.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I just wanted to write a brief journal entry tonight. I'm waiting to chat with Amy, it's our 15 year wedding anniversary and I'm glad that I'll have the chance to be with her in the only way we can at the moment.

Cherbourg is now a definite victory for the Allies. The Germans, now prisoners, marched in orderly, defeated rows past soldiers and citizens alike today. The streets were crowded with everyone in their own way calling for blood. I took no joy in it. Days like this I feel far removed, alien and more observer than participant. I'm weary and exhausted and glad that this at least is over.

Jack is dead. For now at least. We met up with a British regiment and gave possession of his body to them. I'm not sure how long the resurrection process takes. How long before he wakes up but because I believe him, I believe it will happen. At this moment he's more than likely on a ship, leaving the newly acquired Cherbourg harbor bound for England.

I slipped a brief note in his jacket. It had my name, our Manhattan address and phone number on the front and on the back I wrote just two words,

Doctor who?

He'll understand. And then, when this is all over, he'll come looking for us. A discussion about you, a full out, no holds barred talk is best done in the comfort of our home with a great deal of alcohol. Not to mention I want Amy's input.

And one more admission, I want to change his mind about you. You know that feeling you get when someone badmouths your friend? No matter how well they know them all you can think is, Well you don't know him as well as I do. There are only a few beings that I'm fine with having a negative view of you but humans are not one of them. That's right, Doctor, I've become both apologist and apostle for you. Rory Williams: reasoned defender of the faith.

I think I'm looking forward to it, not just because it means being home, but because it's always nice to talk about you again.

But for now, life moves onward. I'm staying in a room in the hospital. Not as a patient. I did get a bit singed by the grenade but nothing to worry about. It wasn't actually a flash grenade. I thought that would have been a few years out. It was actually a thermite that misfired, thank goodness, because otherwise we would have all be dead. There's a bit of information I think I'll keep under my hat and away from Amy.

Something silly has been on my mind recently. You know, Doctor, you never finished your sentence.

_So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of-_

What? Stay out of what? After all this time I'm still so curious. I can't believe I never asked you.

I used to make a game out of it.

So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of Air Supply concerts.  
So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of puppet shows.  
So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of Hitler's cupboard. He's still rather cross with you.

I don't know. I had to do something to pass the time.

Guess now I'll never know.

I'm sure you send your best on our anniversary. In a way, in a strange way that I guess only the three of us could understand, it's sort of our anniversary with you, too. The night you left me with the Pandorica is when I think I finally started to trust you, really trust you and how much you loved Amy and cared for me. Then about 2000 years later, after our wedding, when we both ran away with you, well that was the first time I think we were all together, minus the animosity. It was the first time we'd all three decided we wanted... _needed_ to travel with one another. That was when we started a new adventure in a brand new world that you and Amy helped rebuild. When you've lived so long, markers, dates start to become frighteningly important, they're the watermarks, the tree rings by which you judge the passage of time. Sometimes they're all you have to look forward to. I have a lot of those, as you may imagine, I'm sure you do too. But this is one of the most important.

Well, I've got to go, Amy's waiting, but before I do, I guess, I just wanted to say, Happy Anniversary, Doctor.

You know, you missed a few of our celebrations. If you're up to it. If it wouldn't hurt too much, maybe you could pop in, on say our third anniversary? Our fourth? Our ninth? So many open spaces in our past you could fill, Doctor. It's not crossing your own timeline if you weren't ever there, right? I don't think Amy or I would mind having a flood of new/old warm memories of you. Only if you can manage it, mate. I suppose, I'm not certain that emotionally I could.

No matter where you are or what you decide, have a glass of champagne and toast to us, your glorious Ponds.

We miss you. We love you.

Love,

Rory


	85. June 26, 1944 (15th Wedding Anniversary)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_**Sent via Temporal Paper Cherbourg-Octeville France - Manhattan U.S.** _

26th of June 1944

Hello, love!

Hi, Rory! Happy anniversary, baby!

Happy anniversary, my love. Typing tonight I see.

Yeah, I dragged this behemoth out of the closet. I wanted to be able to keep pace with you without cramping up. Where are you?

My own little room in the Red Cross hospital. It's cozy and private and-

Are you hurt?

Just a little burn from a flash grenade. Really I'm fine. Jack got the worst of it. Killed him, but he'll be alright. I don't know when or if I'll see him again. They're sending him back to England to search for next of kin. I imagine he'll turn up eventually. Last thing he said to me was to ask if I knew the Doctor.

What did you say?

Nothing. Didn't have a chance to respond. But I left our name, address and phone number on a scrap of paper in his jacket.

Are you sure that was a good idea?

Yeah...yeah I am. Don't worry.

Alright, or at the very least I'll save my worrying for another night. I did something for you.

Did you, now?

Oh, God, I'm a bit embarrassed.

I'm intrigued, especially if something embarrassed you.

Ok, I used the webcam and I took two pictures of myself.

Fantastic, I love new pictures of you.

One is like a pin-up picture, cheeky but still covered up. The other is a *special* picture, Rory.

Oh! Why, Mrs. Pond! You naughty minx. Are you completely-

As the day I was born. Ok, I'm putting the paper in the tray and I'm pressing print. I hope this works. Give it a minute or so. In the meantime, tell me how on earth you planned all this, Mister?

All what? *shrugs shoulders innocently*

Well, I got a delivery of flowers at 10, another at 12 and then another at 2. Then there was the candy, then my favorite meal delivered to the door from our favorite restaurant complete with sticky toffee pudding for desert. Don't play coy with me, sir, you are a master planner. ...Rory?

Yes...sorry, the pin up picture just came through. Good heavens, Amy, you're gorgeous. And I had no idea you could get your legs up that high.

Yes, you did. And if you're forgetting I'll have to remind you come Tuesday. But you're sure I look ok? Everything still as pert and shapely as the day you married me?

Amy, you are gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. God, I wish I was with you right now.

Me too. You really like it?

Of course I do.

Just feeling a little self conscious lately. Noticed a few gray hairs. Having to put on a little bit more makeup in the morning.

All I see if perfection. That's all I've ever, ever seen. You look just as lovely as you did when we danced our first dance.

The Macarena.

No...well yes, but I meant our wedding dance. Speaking of which grab your iPod and look for the playlist labeled Happy Anniversary Mrs. Pond

You didn't?

I did. I made it before I left. The same time I placed the orders for the flowers and candy and dinner. You can't imagine the strange looks you get planning something months in advance. Now, put it in the dock, press play.

It's our whole wedding playlist!

Yeah, from Into The Mystic to You Give Me Something to The Macarena. It's all there, even all the terrible songs you like that I can't convince you otherwise. It's all there, even if I can't be. I still want to rock your gypsy soul, Mrs. Pond.

You still do, Mr. Pond. You got me crying now, stupid face.

Yeah, me too. So, lets see if I can make you smile. Get up, go to our cupboard and look up at the top shelf. In the back behind my hats you'll see a large red box. Get it down and bring it back. Type me when you've gotten it.

Ok. ...Ok, got it.

Great, now open it, but only open things in the order that I say. There's a method to this. Don't just charge ahead like a bull at the gate like you always do. I swear you're a Tasmanian devil on your birthday or Christmas.

Oi! I will not be scolded on my anniversary! Now which one first?

Ok you see the white box? Go for that one first. Now the traditional gift for 15 years is crystal which I kind of found to be a bit boring. But in keeping with tradition-

Crystal wine glasses. These are lovely, Rory. Don't I feel posh all of a sudden? I love them, thank you.

I thought you might. We'll have to use them on a special occasion won't we?

Absolutely.

Ok, now open the little green boxes. First the rectangular one, then the square.

Oh my God. A necklace and matching earrings, these are crystal too.

They are. You can't wear the wine glasses out so I needed to get you jewelry.

This must have cost a small fortune.

What else do we spend our money on? We have so much more than we could ever use or need.

I'm not going to wear them until you're back with me. I'm going to save them. Ok, I may put them on and look at myself in the mirror everyday but they're not leaving the flat!

Now there should be a little white business card at the bottom.

Ok, this is an appointment card from Saks for...well it just says Summer/Fall of 1945.

Yeah, again I booked ahead. It's a standing, open appointment.

For what?

I'm going to ignore that question for now, Mrs. Pond. Ok, last one. Little blue box in the corner. Open that one. I wasn't ever able to get you the quality that I wanted, until now.

Rory, it's a ring!

I would love to be there to do this in person and I will. Make sure you bring this along when you come to greet me on Tuesday. But, I just couldn't wait. Amy, will you marry me, again? I think your exclamation points may hint at a favorable answer but I'd like a hard yes, if possible, love.

YES! Yes! Yes! Yes!

I always imagined us waiting until we had 50 years under our belts to renew our vows but, I don't want to wait. Plus I think we've been through at least 50 years of married madness and bliss.

Can I wear it this time or do I have to keep this one in the box too?

Well, I'd rather you kept it in the box, but for a different reason this time. I just want to get down on one knee and put it on you.

Ok, in the box it stays. So, it's a bridal appointment, isn't it?

Well done.

Dress appointment, champagne glasses to toast with, new jewelry and a new ring. You genius, boy. Crying now, again.

Happy tears? Happy Mrs. Rory?

Very happy. But I-

Nope. I know what you're going to say.  _You're_ my gift. This year and every year.

When you get back, I'll have something special for you.

Amy, do you remember our fifth anniversary. The year you got me the Laurel and Hardy box set?

Yeah. It's also the year I got you that really expensive bottle of wine but  _you_ remember a DVD box set.

I loved them both equally! But do you remember us getting flowers? The doorbell rang in the middle of the night, we went to answer it and there was no one there but there was this giant arrangement.

No, I don't know what you're-

Think for second...let it come to you. It only just came to me.

Wait a minute. Yeah. You stubbed your toe on the side of the bed as you were getting up. We went downstairs, opened the front door, picked up the flowers and brought them to the lounge and set them down to search for a card.

But we knew. They were so odd looking and they smelled like... pancakes.

They had to be from the Doctor.

And we couldn't figure out why he didn't come in. He'd never hesitated about barging in before at all hours of the night.

Then when he showed up a week later and we tried to thank him, he looked confused and said he didn't know what we were going on about.

When we showed him the card he just looked uneasy. Do you remember what it said?

He popped back to see us, didn't he? He went back in our time line just to say hello.

I asked him to. I wasn't sure if he would or not.

We thought it was a bit sentimental and...mushy for him. The card said "With all my love. All of it. I miss you." Oh, Rory. he came back for us. It's wonderful having new memories just pop up like that.

Yeah, yeah it is. It's wonderful to know he's reading, too. Thanks, Doctor.

Thank you, Doctor.

I'm sorry I'm a world away from you, Amy.

It's ok. You're also right here. You always knew we were going to make it. You planned this months ahead even though you knew what might happen. And not just now, but always. You've always known we would make it.

Of course. we're Amy and Rory.

I love you, Rory.

And I love you, Amy. Now...no more tears. I believe I was promised another picture. A scandalous shot of you in the all-together.

Right. Coming up. I believe I was promised some of the best shagging I've ever had upon your return. I'm holding you to that.

You'd better.

Picture come through yet?

Ummm...wow...yeah, yeah it came through alright.

Does that hospital room of yours have some sort of lock?

It's little more than a glorified custodians closet, so yes. Getting up to lock it now.

Fancy an incredibly awkward, nearly impossible to maneuver, typo filled-wank-chat via typewriter and temporal paper?

I thought you'd never ask. I'm pretty sure we're about to invent sexting.

**Curators Note: It is the general policy of the museum to preserve items in their original state. However, we do have an overarching policy against making public that which might be considered too mature for our younger visitors. The conversation between Doctor Williams and Mrs. Pond-Williams continues in a rather adult nature from this point onwards. Though these letters are kept under secure Nova Glass and are to be viewed and retrieved only by the Doctor, museum policy must be strictly and universally applied. The text will be available for viewing only to the Doctor via the Underlay method. We apologize for any inconvenience.**


	86. Chapter 86

22nd of October 1944

Dear Bracey,

I'm sorry I've been so long away. I can't recall the last time I just sat down and and took the time to write a nice letter to you. I've been so stressed and busy but I would guess you know all about that as I haven't gotten a letter from you either. I hope all is well.

The business with Torchwood and Harkness has been resolved, at least for the moment. If it wasn't for your help...well I don't like to think about what might have happened to Rory. Both you and Winston have been so amazing through all this madness. I guess I just don't know how to thank you. Perhaps I never can.

Rory and I speak regularly. He's fine and currently making his way across France. My amazing Rory helped to liberate Paris. He sent back amazing pictures of the Victory Day parade and he even got to shake Charles de Gaulle's hand. He's healthy and in good spirits. I send out care packages to him as often as possible so that's he's always stocked up on dry socks, sweets and plenty of pens and paper. He sends his love to you and Dorabella.

I don't have much personal news to report. I'm still writing my column, though my editor has asked for more personal input. He enjoys the stories from women awaiting their husbands return but he told me I was ignoring my most accessible subject; Me. I put him off for awhile, I didn't really want to write about Rory and I, but eventually he convinced me. So once a month the woman on the homefront is me.

I've started to get fan mail, if you can believe that. Women and even a few men writing in to tell me how much they enjoy the column from all over the country (did I mention I got syndicated?). It means a lot and keeps me motivated to keep it up. Knowing people out there are reading it and maybe even looking forward to it keeps me writing even when I'm feeling pretty depressed.

Rory has been gone for over six months. Six months, nearly seven. It's hard. Harder than I even imagined it would be.

It's late October now, of course, and Spartacus and I lined the streets with hundreds of other people to watch President Roosevelt's motorcade go by. I waved my hand and my little American flag and felt like a proper Yank. Everything turned into a bit of a block party after that. Music, dancing, children playing, it was something I think we all needed. For one moment everyone collectively exhaled.

Sunny and I take the kids to the cinema a lot and while they enjoy The Three Caballeros with Donald Duck for the hundredth time we gush over Cary Grant in Suspicion. You should take Dorabella to see it. ;)

Sunny is teaching me how to sew. There's a city wide shortage in children's clothes and nappies and everyday we work on little onesies and such just to help and do our part. Sunny is having a hard time dealing with being a widow and she's having even more problems with Michael. The doctors are calling it battle fatigue or just plain old exhaustion, but of course it's PTSD. He's angry, he's depressed, he drinks. She's had to phone the police on him at least once. I'm worried about her and the children and I have them stay over with me as often as possible.

That's about it. Life does go on, doesn't it?

Please write back soon, tell me how you're doing. I have a strange feeling a lot has gone on since we last spoke and not all of it good.

I miss you my friend,

Always,

Amy

 


	87. October 30, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Dorabella Bracewell to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

30th of October, 1944

Dear Amy,

Edwin asked that that I contact you as soon as I received your latest letter. While I remain in Chalk River, he was transferred rather abruptly to Los Alamos, New Mexico. He was specifically told to leave any family behind and come alone. So, I'm here, by myself in Ontario.

Even before he left I was growing increasingly concerned. The stresses of his position had begun to wear on him. He wasn't sleeping or eating and I can only assume things for him have now grown worse. His letters are fairly scarce and I worry for his wellbeing.

Edwin often plays things close to the vest with me. I don't mean to say he's needlessly secretive but I do believe he feels the desire to protect me from things sometimes. Often, I feel he is more open with you. But please, don't mistake gratitude for jealousy. I'm happy he has such a close confidant. Because of that, I urge you to write to him at the address provided from now on. I have forwarded your most recent correspondence. He will be so overjoyed to speak with you and I fear he may desperately need a friend now.

Yours,

Dorabella Bracewell


	88. November 10, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
 **Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
 **Frequency: Intermittent**  
 **Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

10th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

I have the Wikipedia page for 1944 permanently open. It's kinda of hard to keep up on things, because it's not always easy to know what to look for, but I do refer to it religiously. With everything going on lately I forgot to mention I had a very nice visit with your wife just last month. I'd scanned the web page like normal and around September 4th saw that we were due for a hurricane and a big one at that. It wouldn't make landfall for around 10 or so days but I started preparing immediately. First I dashed off a letter to Melody. She had included a bundle of those homing beacon stamps so we could get in touch with her not just through you.

It was simple enough,

_Hello Melody,_

_We're due for the Great Atlantic Hurricane in around 10 days or less. I was wondering if you had the time if maybe you'd like to spend the storm with your old Mum. When the power ultimately goes out we can sit in the dark, drink wine and tell each other stories._

By the time Spartacus and I had walked to the post and back there was a letter waiting in the mail slot for us.

_Dear Mum,_

_Hurricane party? Count me in. I'll bring the wine and the gossip. See you in a few days._

_P.S. You bring some gossip too!_

The next order of business was to convince Sunny when the time came to leave town. I went to the market and did shopping for she and the kids and Michael as well as Melody and I. But plans got a bit derailed. On the fifth the Cornwall-Massena earthquake struck. It registered about a 5.8 on the Richter scale and served to rattle my teeth, my nerves and my china. But I cleaned up the damage and then returned to the plan at hand. I gathered together a lot of non perishables, blankets and some cash. Convincing her wasn't easy. I had to spin some yarn about how I predicted the 1938 hurricane, how I have a special relationship with weather, how every fiber of my being was telling me they needed to get out of town. I helped her cover all her windows in her flat and even got a few sandbags to hopefully keep the water out. The water was definitely coming, the flooding from this storm was apparently going to be pretty bad. As the day approached she really did seem to believe me and right up until I handed her the food, the cash and the keys to our car she thought I was coming with them. How could I explain to her I couldn't leave?

I don't understand, if it's as bad as you say it's going to be, why would you stay. Come with us, we'll all get a hotel room together further inland and hunker down.

No, this is my home, I'm going to stay here and weather it out. Plus I can't leave Spartacus.

Amy, I'm not comfortable with you here by yourself.

I've faced much worse than this. Not to mention, my family friend from Christmas, you remember Melody, she's coming into town.

She hesitated but I could tell I had her. As the clouds rolled in I kissed the kids goodbye and and saw her off.

I didn't tell Rory, hell I'm even telling you after the fact. My boys, you always worried too much about me. Amelia Pond is not, nor will she ever be a damsel in distress and she can deal with another little storm.

Did I ever tell you that Rory and I arrived here in the middle of a hurricane? I asked Melody some time later. She'd arrived in a flash of light wearing skinny jeans, a t-shirt and her hair pulled back in a big curly pony tail. We'd hugged for about five minutes straight and even then I was unwilling to let her go.

Finally she, Spartacus and I had settled in the living room with pizza and wine and the radio playing softly in the background. We were camped out on the floor like little girls, the way we had done when we were young...the way I always imagined us doing had I gotten the chance to raise her.

Pond luck. She'd chuckled with a shake of her head. The middle of a hurricane, you say?

Mmmhmm, The Long Island Express they called it. I was so worried when I arrived. I didn't know where or how I'd find your Dad. I could tell by everyones clothes I was probably in the right time but what if he wasn't there? What if I never found him? The streets were flooded up to my calves, the rain was coming in sideways. I was calling his name but it kept being swallowed up by the wind. Finally a gentleman grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a restaurant. I spent the night there, soaked through, looking for the slightest break in the clouds so that I could run out and look for him. I went through all these scenarios in my head. What if I'd waited too long? What if he'd given up on me? What if he'd been by himself for years for every second I dallied?

What happened?

I went out the next morning and started searching or him. It didn't take long before I heard someone call my name...and there he was. My Rory, just like when I'd last seen him. I ran up to him, we hugged and I told him I was never going to let him go. He seemed surprised I had come back for him. That hurt, not that I was angry with him, I was angry with myself for making him think that. I told him I would never leave, not ever again. And that was kind of that. We set off to find shelter and start our lives.

Hurricanes make you sentimental?

Yeah, I guess so. That's really weird isn't it? You know, I don't know if I could have done it without you.

Done what?

Been able to leave the Doctor so quickly. You gave me the strength.

You've always been stronger than you think, which is saying quite a bit, Mum because you think you're pretty strong.

Both of you let me go.

The Doctor made it harder for you. I understand his pain, I do, but he shouldn't have tried to saddle you with it.

Your words came back to me, then Doctor, as clear as they were the moment you'd spoken them.

_I'll be with Rory. Like I should be._

_"_ _From your point of view. From mine, you'll just turn to dust. Please don't. Please don't do that to me…Amy. My Amelia. The first face this face saw_."

He was so hurt and so scared and the pull to comfort him was almost as strong as the need to join Rory.

I wiped away a few errant tears.

Oh it's aright. He's powerful and wonderful and brilliant but he's also a 10 year old boy who wants what he wants. He was my selfish boy. You were so calm and now I understand why. You'd already seen us here. You  _did_  know it was our best shot.

Couldn't let you know I knew. I had to let you make your own decision.

What happened after we left?

She sighed. Her attention suddenly turning to the storm raging outside the window.

He went rather mad, not to put too fine a point on it. I told him you were ok, I told him the tombstone showed that you made it. I- mother?

I must have gone a little white. Every so often the thought of Rory's gravestone, my gravestone came back to me with a chilling clarity. Rory was going to die someday and I was going to die someday too. That was written, that was fact. Somewhere in the future our grave was standing mouldering, discolored, weathered and unempty.

Don't, Mum. We all have a tomb out there somewhere, every time traveler knows that. We've probably crossed over it a dozen times. Even in life we are in the midst of death, isn't that what the bible says?

I tried to shake it off, the willies, the cold feeling of doom.

Not getting religious are we? I asked her with forced good humor.

She chuckled.

No, heard it from Dad once, a long time ago. Did he ever tell you he spent the better part of two centuries as a monk?

I looked at her with surprise.

No, that's the first I've heard of it.

He moved the Pandorica to the catacombs of an abbey and took the vows all so he could watch over you. He even made the history books.

How could that be? That timeline was aborted.

History isn't as clear cut as all that. You can't ever truly clean up a timeline. The Time Lords could, when they were here but it's all up to us and the whims of the universe now. There's always a bit of clutter that remains, it hangs around as myth or ghost stories. May I see your laptop?

Of course.

I stood up to go to the bedroom to retrieve it.

Whatever you plan on doing, best do it fast before we lose the electric. I'm surprised we've kept it for this long. I said upon my return. I again sat down next to her and peered over her shoulder.

The Ageless Monk? I asked.

Mmmhmm, and then she began to read.

_The Ageless Monk is a figure from Christian mythology but his origins predate the tradition. The original legend may have melded over the years with the medieval tales of the Wandering Jew. Both were either doomed or charged with roaming the Earth for an indeterminate number of years, possibly until the Second Coming. Much of the original stories have been lost but what remains is an unverified account from Father Augusto Domenenci, a priest from the 16th century._

_A mysterious man in an unfamiliar habit approached and asked to help in the construction of the new papal residence on the condition that they would allow him to house a box within it. A box that contained a secret. The last secret. He called the box the "All-Giving."_

_He was granted permission to assist provided he worked on in the service of its raising for two hundred years. The mysterious man agreed. He worked day and night, month after month, year after year and for those two centuries he never appeared to age or tire. His final job was working on a small apartment that was originally to be called the Silentium. The Room of Silence. The Ageless Monk worked tirelessly in that small little room and on the few occasions when he would pause for the rest he never ceased to weep._

_When he was asked once why he wept, he refused to answer and instead said,_

_This room must be red, the reddest red, as red as her hair._

_But no one knew whom he referred to and they did not question him further. When he completed the room and the priests entered they were struck by it's simplicity, its craftsmanship and its aching beauty._

_But it is said that during his time in the Palace the Ageless Monk became disenchanted with the hierarchy, the priests and the papacy. When it came time to deliver the box he hesitated and then outright refused. Some say he left with the box because he felt his holy secret was too precious to bestow on the unworthy. No one was ever sent after him to reclaim it for fear of second guessing his judgement. When the new Pope is elected he enters that room and he sits in contemplation over what great and terrible honor has been placed upon his shoulders. And in that silence, in that small redder than red room it is said you can still hear the weeping of the Ageless Monk. And so it was named The Room of Tears. There is a box there, called The Popes Box and it sits empty, in holy deference to to the secret box the mysterious man carried. It is believed he still carries the secret with him, held within that box. On the day he opens it the stars will go black, the world will unwrite itself and everything will end. Or so the story goes._

We both sniffled as she finished reading.

I think they were talking about a much smaller box, as this implies he carried it on his person but you see my point. Nothing is ever really forgotten.

The Doctor said something similar to me after the first time I lost Rory. I doubt I'll ever know all his stories, will I? And he's the only one who really knows them now. When he's gone, all his adventures will go with him. He's amazing, your Dad.

I know, who else but the Doctor could I fall in love with? Had to find someone that could live up to Dad. How is he?

Good, doing very well. He sends his love. Actually, we wanted to talk to you about something.

I'm all ears.

When he gets home...well...your Dad and I were thinking about adopting.

I was worried about her reaction. I wasn't sure what I was expecting but all she did was smile and embrace me.

Mum, I think that's a wonderful idea. I was hoping the two of you might settle on that.

Can we count on you to babysit? I joked.

Anytime.

After losing Adora I didn't think our hearts could bear it, but I think we're ready now.

I think so, too.

Ok, there's more, Doctor and it's definitely stuff I think you need to hear. But it's late and I have a letter-date with my husband. What say we finish up hurricane tales tomorrow?

Love across the stars,

-Your Mother-In-Law

**A/N Everything mentioned here (lest you think I'm trying to throw everything at them but the kitchen sink) is true. There was a mild earthquake in 1944 followed by the aforementioned hurricane. Also the dialogue from the Doctor is real. A month or so ago cut dialogue from TATM was released and he was originally supposed to say the whole thing about Amy turning to dust from his perspective. There's a little more from the cuts I'm going to add in the next chapter. In addition to that The Room of Tears is actually a real place in the Papal Palace, and it is red. As for the Pope's Box, I totally riffed off of something mentioned in "American Horror Story". Whether that exists or not, I'm not certain.**

**Trying to do some shades of foreshadowing, shades of the Library and just the strong theme throughout all the Pond seasons that nothing is ever, truly, really forgotten. Also, I just love to bring in bits of Rory mythology.**


	89. November 11, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

Like silly, excited children Melody and I dared to peek outside on that second day. It was windy and a cold driving rain lashed from all directions. We crept down the stairs of our mostly empty flat all the way to the bottom level. The water swirled about our feet having infiltrated through a pane of broken glass in the lobby. I snapped a few pictures and then Melody and I gathered duct tape and plastic sheeting and sealed it as best we could.

I just want to stand on the porch and take a few pictures. I said grabbing my daughters hand with a conspiratorial wink.

We'd lost power so I had no way to know when the eye of the storm would be upon us. Right now it seemed safe enough to venture out for just a moment. Instead of cautioning with a, Be careful, Mum, Melody stepped right outside with me. Trash, soggy newspapers, wood, tree branches and a mans hat swirled in the deluge of rushing water that hurried past us along the streets and pavement. I took a few photos for myself and Rory and Melody and I got a few quick self portraits, hair whipping as we squinted into the wind. I've included one for you, Doctor, a new picture of your wife and your mother-in-law.

Later that evening as we were sitting enjoying one another company in the living room a thought occurred to me.

You know you didn't answer my question, yesterday, about what the Doctor was like after we left.

No, I didn't.

She got up quickly from her place on the floor and went to stand by the window.

We all talk about the Doctor in a certain way. She began. And make no mistake he facilitates it. We refer to him as a child; impetuous, rash, prone to tantrums, excitable, incorrigible but he's not you know. A child, I mean.

I was silent for a moment. Of course I know. I know how deep your emotions run, I know how raw your hearts are. I knew on Christmas when the three of us were so happily together. Even then there was this lingering sadness in your eyes. I knew before then too, maybe even since you first asked me if I had an apple.

But we all play along don't we, Doctor. We lie to ourselves because you lie to yourself. We play and we pretend that you're invincible, that you can always move on. We pretend as though you're the King of OK. But you're not, are you? You're not OK? Even if you're out there, reading this, hearing my voice, maybe you're not OK. I don't know why its taken me so many years to write that, I think maybe because I didn't want Rory and I to assume we had larger place in your hearts than we did. I didn't want to presume that after all you've suffered and survived, we two would be the ones who broke your hearts again. It was too self centered, too egomaniacal. And since I'm being brutally honest...too painful. I can't bear to see you cry. I can't bear to think of you crying. It breaks me, Doctor. It's why I held you so tight on Christmas when you emerged into our dining room with tears in your eyes. It's why after we found our room the night that Idris died we came back and refused to leave you. There's two sides of you Doctor, the part of you that wants to be surrounded by people and friends and family all the time and the part of you that wants to and  _thinks_ he deserves to be alone. My afterword may have been truncated but I still meant it, Don't be alone, Doctor. Don't ever, ever be alone. It's unhealthy for you. It's unnatural. It kills you, my love. Piece by piece. After the self imposed or otherwise separation you and Rory and I took from each other I saw how it had unraveled you each time we met. The spaceship, Mercy and then in Manhattan.

Melody warned me, she did, but I was selfish and I just didn't listen.

_Have you been letting him travel on his own?_

And I had,  _we_ had, we'd tried to split our time with you and we'd been letting you kick about on your own.

I felt so guilty. But I thought there'd be time. Even in Manhattan, I thought there'd be time.

When I told you, I wouldn't let the Angels have Rory, that no matter what, we had sheer will and true love, you scoffed.

"That's all? True love- against the Angels?"

I couldn't, in that moment look at you with anything but pity. My own Peter Pan had stopped believing in magic.

_You're right, River. I shouldn't have let him travel alone._

Even then,  _already_ by then, you'd lost so much faith, in us, in yourself, in love. Then we go and leave you. We  _left_ you.

I'm writing these thoughts down now just as they were running through my head then. I was terrified of what Melody would say next. What had she been hiding?

I know. I croaked out to her, I didn't even know how long I'd been silent. After I'd steadied my voice I pressed on. So...what happened after we left?

I looked at the stone and told him you'd made it back. You were alright. You were with Dad. But he flew into a rage. I've seen the Doctor's anger before, his blind fury but never, ever anything like this. I tried to lead him back safely into the TARDIS but he wouldn't have it.

She shuddered at the memory and I got to my feet to stand by her and extend an arm of support around her waist.

I said, She's gone now, Doctor, Amy's gone now. But he yanked away from me. He rushed towards it shouting,

"What about me? Gonna take me now?"

I was so frightened, because I just knew, I  _knew_ he was a step away from letting it take him back as well.

Oh Raggedy Man, I couldn't believe what Melody had just said. I felt this sickening drop in my stomach at the idea that you'd even consider that.

My daughter continued.

I put my hand on his arm and I told him. It's weak, Doctor. I think it's done now. That was when he started bellowing, screaming at it,

"Tell your friends! Tell all the Angels, next time I see you, I will grind you into sand. I will make a desert of you."

I tried to make him stop. I tried to hold him but in the end he...

Melody's voice started to quiver and I pulled her close to me as she started to cry. Even so she went on.

He collapsed on the ground, holding his head in his hand and he just started to sob. He crumpled and let out the most...heart rending sound.

Melody raised her hand to her chest as if to clutch at her two hearts to defend against this fresh, old pain. I guided her on her shaky legs back to the sofa so that we might sit down.

I'd never seen him like that, Mum. Never. I've helped him, nearly every version of him through one tragedy or another but I had never seen him like this. I kept my eye on the Angel and got him to his feet and finally, finally back safely inside the TARDIS. It maybe the only time I really didn't know what to do for him. I took the TARDIS into the vortex and just let her cruise on autopilot. He was sitting on the landing, struggling to hold back tears. All I could think was, I have to be strong for him. And then that beautiful, broken man apologized to me.

He said, "I'm sorry River, they were your parents. I'm sorry, I didn't think."

And because I'd seen you, because I knew you were OK my response was a little cold.

It doesn't matter. I said to him.

"Of course it matters."

And then I told him, your message, Dad's message,  _our_ message.

What matters is this, don't travel alone, Doctor.

And what did he say? I asked her.

He asked me to travel with him. Oh, Mum you don't know how badly I've wanted to hear that. You don't know for how many years I just wanted him to say, River, come away with me. But I knew I couldn't, I knew if I didn't set some sort of boundary then I'd never leave him.

What did you say?

I called him a psychopath.

You did what?

I called him a psychopath and I told him I would stay with him for awhile and I was definitely going to stay with him tonight. He seemed to agree with that and I started up the stairs towards the wardrobe to change. But I also wanted to go to the room you and Dad shared. Just to collect myself and maybe have a cry where he couldn't see me. I was surprised when he chased after me.

"Please darling, please." He begged.

He reached for my hand and we stood there like that for a few moments then he started to lead me to his bedroom. We-

Melody abruptly cut herself off, cheeks going red.

I smiled and squeezed her hand.

It's alright, Melody. I'm your, Mum, you can tell me these things. You two made love.

She nodded.

It's just a little embarrassing.

It wasn't your first time was it?

Heavens, no. Oh Mum, I hope you didn't think I was a  _virgin_ , it has been a bit of a while since that's been true. Not to mention the Doctor paid more than a few visits to me in Stormcage. But this time was much more...intense. We were both so upset, so emotionally charged and when it was over we started crying all over again in each others arms. I didn't know if the tears would ever stop.

I traveled with him for awhile, the first trip we took was back to your house in Leadworth. I watched through the window as he talked to you as a little girl. I saw how you waited for him and I got to see again how he loved you so. After that he tried to put on a brave face but he was shattered. Time in the TARDIS is strange, immeasurable but I was with him for months, nearly a year. One day he said to me, "River. Wife. I need you to leave me now." I asked him why and he said, "Because I need to know that I can handle this on my own." I protested, telling him he didn't need to handle it by himself. I was there, I would always be there. But once the words were out of my mouth I still tasted the lie on my tongue. We were moving in opposite directions, drifting apart. The day was coming for both of us when we would lose each other, absolutely and permanently. Sometimes, when he looked at me over those long months I thought perhaps he was already seeing me dead. Stupidly, I honored his request. Not as if I would have had much of a choice. We parted and he promised me he'd be alright but his eyes told me the truth. By the time I came back to him...he was in seclusion.

Oh, Melody no. Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before?

Because I didn't think you could handle it. I didn't handle it all that well. I sent him a message, several messages on his psychic paper and he refused to answer me. I know had I needed help, had I truly required him he would have come but I didn't and I made that clear. I simply wanted to see my husband and make certain he was managing. So all I got from him was silence. It took me awhile to track him down but eventually I found him in England, 1892.

He'd changed the TARDIS desktop, you wouldn't even recognize it. She hates it of course but she'd do anything for him. It's colder now, bare bones, so austere and Gallifreyan and dark, Mum, it was just so dark. I was, well I was horrified and he took offense and we had a row. I asked him, How long have you been living like this, all alone in the dark. And he said, "Two or three hundred years, who can count?" I yelled at him that he was hiding and he yelled back he was retired, there's a difference.

"River, what you don't understand, what you've  _never_ understood is that none of this matters. Not the lives we save or the bonds we make or break. The Universe is as cold as it feels and it takes its singular joy in breaking us. It's all just dust in the end. I for one am done trying to right the scales."

It was about this time in Melody's story, Doctor, that I dissolved into tears. You didn't listen. You didn't listen to us at all. We begged you not to be alone and you punished yourself and did just that.

And then? I prodded her.

Then I slapped him, hard. I told him, How dare you stand there and tell me to my face that my parents didn't matter. I won't have you piss on their memory because you've chosen to feel sorry for yourself! You're not the Doctor. I don't know who or  _what_ you are. Or do I know you after all? Is this from whence The Valeyard's born?

I stopped her, she was talking so fast, throwing out so much information that I felt the storm outside was raging in my head.

What's The Valeyard?

That, Mother is a story for another time. But I can say that it caused him great offense and it hurt him, a lot. I didn't mean to. He didn't asked me to leave but he did stalk away. I found out he'd only recently made contact with Vastra, Jenny and Strax and they too were trying to engage him with little success. For one of the first times I thought of him as old. Bitter and damaged and old. He was so incredibly broken. God, you must be furious with me.

Me? Why?

Because you asked me to look after him. Maybe that's one reason why I never told you what happened after you both left.

Darling, I'm not mad at you. I asked you to look after him, true. But I never nor would I ever ask you to chain yourself to him. That wouldn't be right or fair. That's not marriage. I wouldn't ask River Song to sacrifice her autonomy anymore than I'd ask the Doctor. Not to mention it sounds as though he had his course set, with or without you. You did exactly what I asked, don't waste another second feeling bad about it. Do you hear me?

She nodded and I took several handfuls of tissue and divided them up between us.

The weather, the wind and the wet from outside had grown quiet, eerily so. Both Melody and I turned to the window silently.

I think we're in the eye. She said softly. That means we're halfway out.

Doctor, I spoke to Rory earlier this evening, before I started this journal entry but that means its even later now than usual. Rehashing all this is both emotionally draining and physically exhausting. I'll leave the rest for tomorrow.

I love you, Doctor

Rory and I are so very, very sorry for all those dark years you were alone.

Love across the stars,

Amy, Rory and Melody

Forever your Ponds.

**A/N: I wanted to fill in a few holes here. One thing I've noticed from comments on forums and Tumblr etc is that people think River left after she told the Doctor she wouldn't travel with him forever. But if you go back and watch TATM she actually walks up the stairs to disappear deeper into the TARDIS. The length of time she spent with him is unclear as is the length of time he spent travelling alone before he came to retire in Victorian London.**

**I like Amy/Melody bonding time. I enjoy writing it, I always wish it had been explored more in the show. I think I'll be able to wrap up their hurricane time together in the next Chapter. This went on a little longer than I thought it would but I'm really pleased with it.**

**Oh and again, all the dialogue here by the Doctor and River that takes place after Amy and Rory left about 'grinding the Angel to dust' is taken directly from the cut lines of TATM.**

**Just so you know this story is actually a repost or rather a concurrent post, I always wanted it on A03 and I'm adding a few chapters a day.  I'm not finished writing it by any means but I'm somewhere around Chapter 146. I'm only saying that because when this was written there were things we didn't know about Clara (she hadn't even had a proper debut as a character at that point) or River in The Name of the Doctor. So if anything seems a little timey-wimey, that's why. I've been writing this since October of 2012!**


	90. November 12, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

You don't really need an introduction after all this, do you. What say we just jump right in?

I asked Melody,

What happened then?

I visited him, during his time in the clouds. He had the TARDIS parked high above the streets of London. I tried to get him to travel, to go away with me. I tried to foster some sort of intimacy between us but he wasn't interested. He wouldn't even kiss me.

But in your letter, you told me he was better.

He is. He's just not the same. He's a different man now.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face because she quickly added.

I don't mean to say he's regenerated. He's just different.

What helped to make him better?

We were drinking hot chocolate in my bedroom, camped out on the bed away from the noises of the storm. The clinking of our spoons in our mugs were all the sounds that filled the room.

Pond. She said finally. A mystery and the only word that could shake him out of his depression.

Clara, the girl you wrote me about? Have you met her, yet?

Yes...and so have you in a manner of speaking.

No...no not that I recall.

On the Dalek Homeworld, she was Souffle Girl.

Wait...what?

The Doctor's reaction exactly.

But she died.

Indeed, and not for the first or last time.

I don't understand.

Neither does he, at least not yet.

Do you like her?

I'm reserving judgement. But no matter what I'm grateful that she is helping him.

More marshmallow? I asked her, reaching for the bag we'd conveniently placed on the nightstand.

Please. She said offering me her mug.

I suppose if she helped him I'm grateful too.

Mother? She singsonged.

I sighed and smiled into my cup.

Alright, If we're being  _honest_. I'm a little jealous. But it's minuscule in comparison to my gratitude at someone helping him.

It's alright, every so often I get a touch jealous too. They do love to  _kiss_ him don't they?

Always a little too much for my taste. Did you ever see the slew of companions that man has had? I skimmed through them once after the Byzantium, filled with girls, one of them in a leather bikini, no less! Or should I say, no more!

Ah yes, Leela. She was a looker.

He's a space lothario isn't he?

Melody chuckled.

Not quite, some incarnations fancy themselves to be, but he just appeals to men and women. They all want to go with him. Those two words, Follow me, are a powerful call and sometimes a remarkable aphrodisiac.

I decided to change the subject then, Doctor, for fear of treading down an inadvisable road.

He knows you come to see us. Does he let you talk about it?

She sighed and stretched out, her blonde curls spreading out upon the mattress.

No. That's a line he won't cross.

But the picture you gave to Rory for his birthday. I mean, he must acknowledge it someway.

That was one of the last trips the Doctor and I took together before he asked me to leave him. It was very hard for him but he so badly wanted to do it.

He's popped up in our memory. Only barely, he jumped back and left us flowers and a note for our anniversary.

He might get better with it over the years. I'm not really sure, Mum. If I was dead-

I shook my head, No.

Don't- don't ever say such a thing.

Alright, She placated me. If someone I cared deeply about was dead, I don't know that I'd just be able to pop back into the past whenever I wanted to to see them. I think emotionally speaking it might kill me. Imagine that, everyday, talking with a ghost?

You come back to see us.

That's different. I already knew something was going to happen. It wasn't a shock, it wasn't a terrible loss that I had to deal with at that moment. But I'm not exempt, I  _will_ have to deal with it, someday. And the truth is, as exciting and challenging as my life can be I'm just not as busy as the Doctor. I can come back and spend days with you and I can move forward knowing you're here and you're safe and I can see you again. He doesn't work like that, he can't. He's lost so many people over the years and temporally speaking they're  _all_ still out there, somewhere in some unvisited pocket of time. If he let himself live in the past he'd get rooted there. His Time Lord instinct won't allow it but it also won't let him leave you fully. I leave little corners of my mind open to him sometimes when we're sleeping. Corridors that don't contain anything about his future that he can roam through if he likes. Corridors that are only my memories of you and Dad and this house. I feel him moving through me and I feel the comfort he draws from being able to see you again. But that comfort is so heavy with sadness. He knows that I know, but its unspoken. Marriage is sometimes about letting them have their dreams isn't it...or yours?

Yes, I guess so.

I thought about all the times I'd made certain to put on a cheery face for Rory. These last few months without him had been hard. I found myself leaving out huge chunks of my day when we wrote to one another just to protect him.

He's afraid, of losing his purpose, his bearings, his mind. I never told him this but one night I woke up and as I was walking through the TARDIS I heard him speaking with you. And I heard you answering.

What do you mean?

The TARDIS voice interface, he'd apparently coaxed it into sentience and there's so much of you and Dad still there I think it had enough to draw on to mimic a bit of your personalities.

I almost felt as thought I shouldn't ask, Doctor, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you aren't embarrassed. You know I love you and I talk to you all the time.

What did he say? I asked while squeezing her hand.

I didn't linger. It felt...private. Intimate. Sad. The next day was when he asked me to leave him. I'm not certain if he knew I was there or not.

My poor Doctor. I said wiping away even more tears. I just didn't have any idea he was so wrecked. Melody, have you ever seen him reading. Rory and I keep journals and all our correspondence. We were hoping it might be a way for us to say goodbye to him, to show him that we are... _were,_  in the end, ok.

I haven't seen him reading anything but it could be we haven't crossed that point in one anothers timeline yet. Or maybe I never see it. But keep writing. I know how much it would mean to him to have such a special part of you and Dad. Your place in his life and his place in yours isn't exactly over yet. There's a time, a definite moment when all stories end. I think-

She abruptly cut herself off.

What?

Spoilers. She said with a smile.

Of course. You used to tease the Doctor with that word.

Still do, She said with a Cheshire grin.

I guess it's my turn now. Do you remember when we first met at the crash of the Byzantium?

Of course.

I was so impressed by you.

Me? What did I do? She asked and there was not a hint of false modesty, she really wanted to know.

The very first words you said to me were, He thinks he's so hot when he does that!

Oh yes, I recall now.

I thought you were amazing. I saw this incredible woman who kept the Doctor in check, who was fearless and brave. I knew you were going to be Mrs. Doctor, which I told him. I so admired you. I thought to myself, that's a woman I want to be like.

Mother, She began, clasping both my hands in hers. Everything I was then, everything I am now, I learned from you. What you saw was my poor impersonation of the most amazing woman I'd ever met, you. I don't think even you know how far you've come since then, or how much you've taught me. You were so young, so unsure of so many things, yourself, Dad, the Doctor. You had no idea how much lay within you. I wanted to hug you so badly. I feel it's fairly safe to say you would have freaked out if I'd called you Mum!

I was so touched, Doctor, so moved that she drew strength from me, from silly, troubled, crazy, flighty Amelia Pond.

All of a sudden Mels words came back to me.

_It took me years to find you two. I'm so glad I did. And you see, it all worked out in the end, didn't it? You got to raise me after all. Where would I be without the two of you?_

In our own strange way Rory and I did get to raise her. Trying to teach her how to behave, how not to get into trouble, right from wrong. And most of all we just tried to love her, love our dearest, best friend as best we could.

We kind of took a break after that, Doctor. The last few days had been filled with a lot of intense conversation and quite frankly we needed something, a little pause to brighten the mood. We actually did a few silly girly things. We painted our nails, fiddled with our hair and I even let her cut a few inches off of mine. We went through my closet by candlelight which of course meant I had some red cheeked explaining to do when we came across the police woman and French maid outfits respectively.

Mum, we're you a stripper? A little side job even Mels didn't know about?

No! I was a kiss-o-gram. It's like a singing telegram except that I delivered the message with a kiss. No stripping involved, your Dad might have gone apoplectic at that. Not that that would have stopped me if I'd wanted to.

Oh, I know that much. But why, exactly do you still keep the costumes about? She asked a cheeky twinkle in her eye.

Nostalgia. I said with a quirk of a smile. So, what adventure did I pull you out of to come here?

I was with the Doctor. The Seventh Doctor and Ace in this year actually, 1944. We were captured by Nazi's and shenanigans ensued. They thought we were British spies. We escaped, obviously. It was great fun.

What's he like?

Delightful at first. Funny, clownish, silly, joyful.

Sounds familiar. I grinned. I always love hearing about you, Doctor.

He's smart, obviously and so, so courageous. He is Times Champion. But he changes over time, he grows colder, angrier, more manipulative, forcing people away from him. But I love him, I love all versions of him.

Do you have an intimate relationships with every version of him.

Some of them. I've certainly put the Fifth Doctor through his paces.

Melody! I said giving her a playful smack on the arm.

You're the one who said I could tell you such things! She retorted.

So I did, go on then.

But with the Seventh Doctor, for instance, we spend most of our time having adventures, playing chess and chatting. I can't choose a favorite, but I am quite partial to him. He plays the spoons. He frequently mangles idioms, one of my favorites being "Time and tide melt the snowman." Oh and he speaks with a Scottish accent you know, and that's a timbre I find very, very comforting. The truth is whatever Doctor you're with is the one you love most at that moment.

Have you met them all?

Almost, I have yet to meet his Tenth as well as a few others. I'm looking forward to it.

You haven't met his Twelfth have you? I asked trepidatiously.

No. Thankfully, no. I am in love with this Doctor. Our Doctor. My Doctor. I realize, I'm absolutely going back on everything I just said...Eleven is my favorite and he has my heart like no other.

He knows that. He loves you so much. It's as plain as the nose on Dad's face. But why doesn't he remember meeting you?

Mnemosine Recall Wipe Vapor. Handy little amnesia gas, lets me visit with him and then clear his memory of me.

The next question was one I was more than a little afraid to ask. So afraid in fact that I never dared to even ask you, Doctor.

Melody, what happens to the two of you when the Doctor regenerates. What happens to how he used to feel about us?

Not used to, still does feel. It's hard to say. His memories aren't erased, they're still in tact. His personality changes, there's not doubt about that but the core of him, the soul remains. Mother, he will always love us. Always.

I ran my finger over the rim of my wine glass before putting it to the side.

Did the Doctor have children?

Yes, yes he did. Children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. All lost to him now.

He opens up to you, completely doesn't he?

As completely as the Doctor can, yes.

Love, have you and the Doctor talked about children?

Mum, I'm not pregnant if that's what you're hinting at. I think we've been through that, plus I'd tell you, you and Dad both.

No, I don't think you're pregnant now. But have the two of you discussed it?

She sighed and for a moment seemed distracted by the howling winds outside.

Umm..

Let me guess, he doesn't want to.

No, no if you can believe it, I'm not sure if  _I_ want to.

Why?

It's a thousand things. Our time line, our natures, I love him but I can't live with him, I will not be cooped up in the ship for eternity.

Not cut out to be a TARDIS-housewife?

Not remotely. He's my husband but he plays at a stability that I don't think he can maintain.

I inched closer to her and put my arm about my daughters shoulders.

Do you want kids?

Oh God, yes Mum, of course I do. Of course I want to bear his children. But not running from Sontarans or battling Macra. Would you hate me if I said I was ever so slightly jealous of you?

No, but I am surprised. There have been children on the TARDIS before haven't there?

Would you have kept me there? If the Doctor had delivered me to you safe and sound?

Rory and I talked about that. We always used protection on the TARDIS and though we weren't planning for kids, we hesitantly agreed that in some ways, there wasn't a safer place in the universe. If it happened it happened. So yes, had we gotten you back we would have raised you, at least for part of the time on board. So long as the Doctor would have us. We were all a family and I didn't want to ever be parted from him. Neither of us did.

I need excitement, I need thrills and chases and to be dodging enemy fire. But sometimes, just sometimes I imagine what it might be like to have a little house on some quiet little planet filled with a dozen or so impossible children and one incredibly mercurial husband.

You sound just like Rory. I laughed. He's instinctually drawn to the quiet life and he always wanted a house full of kids. I think I started off more like you. I craved excitement. Did I ever tell you about when we got trapped by the Dreamlord?

Oh dear, one of the Doctor's nastier alter egos.

There's more than one?

Many, many more.

I proceeded to relate to her the elaborate dream, the sleepy village of Leadworth. I even imitated Rory's version of a humble-brag. It's actually Upper Leadworth, we've moved slightly up-market. I was, from the feel of it, about eight months pregnant, he was ecstatic, I was restless. I remember we'd had a conversation where he said he wanted at least five kids, maybe more. That terrified me then. Now, I think it would be wonderful. When I was young, I was willing to risk all the wrong things trying to be happy. Now I know better. I know putting my heart out there is a risk. But its a good one and one I want to take now.

I reached out to stroke my daughter's cheek.

Just consider it. Consider making a weird, strange life with the Doctor. Being a mum is awesome. Trust me on that. And as I said last year, I'd love to be a gran.

I'll think about it, I promise.

You see, Doctor, I'm always going to bat for you. Wouldn't you love to have a brand new Time Lord, maybe a ginger running around calling you Dad? You should have that, my love. You deserve it, you deserve to be happy.

Mum, may I ask you something? She said breaking into my thoughts.

Of course.

Were you... _are_  you, in love with the Doctor?

I sighed. I think I'd hoped we'd left this behind last year with our letters. But I couldn't blame her for being curious.

Do you really want me to answer that?

I think you just did. And Dad?

I can't rightly speak for him but I think..yeah, Dad too.

She looked contemplative but she didn't say anymore.

Are we ok?

We're always ok, Mum.

I studied her face to see if she meant it and was immensely relieved to see that she did. She had every right to be angry with me, distrustful, maybe even jealous. But she wasn't. My daughter is a good woman, Doctor. A better woman than I. I wonder is she as forgiving and generous with you. Have you had to explain our...what...tryst? indiscretion? to her in detail. No, I change my mind, I don't like any of those words. That's not what we had. That's not what we did. I won't diminish it like that. I'm going to be running this through my head for the rest of my life, aren't I?

So tell me what you do when you're not with the Doctor?

Oh lot's of things. Traveling. Lot's of exploring. Archaeological digs. I love old things, he hates when I make that joke and give him a pointed look. But he always laughs. I keep busy. I have a good life, I hope you and Dad know that.

We'd hoped so. We just want you to be happy. Always and forever happy.

We hugged tightly and warmly and in true cinematic fashion the power suddenly came back on. I laughed with my daughter and we went about the apartment cleaning up the take-away container/junk food wrapper damage two rather emotional women had wrought on the flat over the past few days.

Goodness I think it's safe to say we eat a lot more when the lights are out. She joked.

Well I don't regret a moment of it!

Me neither!

She stayed with me the rest of the night and as long as breakfast the next morning. We shared a teary goodbye and she promised she'd be back for Thanksgiving. After that life, essentially returned to normal.

If you're lucky the storm clouds do pass, don't they Doctor? All in all we've all been pretty lucky.

I know I was.

I have always been.

I am.

Love across the stars, Doctor

I love you.

Amy


	91. Sometime in the year 4892

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Sometime in the year 4892

Dear Dad,

I've was visiting with Mum for a few days about a month or so ago, just keeping her company and catching up on life. I love spending time with her, it's different than it was when I was Mels, but trying to explain how different is beyond my ability. I liked being their in your flat, surrounded by your things, your memories. It's always so tempting to stay. But it's difficult to be there without you. Both of us, at the same time found ourselves looking up towards doorways, always expecting you to walk in, a big silly grin on your face. We both love it when you call us your girls. We love rushing into your arms, we love your tight embrace. I for one just love feeling like I belong. Only one other man in the world makes me feel that way.

Mum is well, she misses you, but she's well. I thought you'd like to know that from a relatively impartial source.

I'm doing fine too. Unearthing ruins, helping to overthrow corrupt governments on distant worlds, you know, keeping busy and for the most part staying out of trouble. I was so close to you recently, just a few days ago. The Seventh Doctor and I were locked away in Colditz Castle by the buggering Nazi's. Mother says you've been camped near the Rhine for weeks now and even without a vortex manipulator Leipzig, Dresden isn't that far. But I couldn't think of a plausible way to just appear out of the blue in the midst of the lead up to the Battle of the Bulge for the sole purpose of giving my Dad a hug.

I could do with a great big hug from you though.

I have a care package on the way that will hopefully catch up to you soon. But in the meantime I wanted to send you something Mum couldn't. While I was there she drifted off to sleep and it occurred to me that's something you probably miss. Turning over in bed and seeing her sleeping next to you... So here's a picture I snapped of her, deep in dreams. I thought it might be something you could look at before you go to bed each night. I thought it could bring you comfort while you're so far away.

I've been thinking about you so much recently. I was just on the Earth colony Parsis a few months ago in 4045 and guess what was playing at the local cinema? A Laurel and Hardy retrospective! Remember when we were...I don't 14 or 15 and the three of us snuck out to the all night showing of their classics at the Leadworth Theater. Amy was bored out of her mind but you and I were sitting there, right in the front row, laughing ourselves silly. Remember struggling through classes the next day, trying to keep our eyes open and stay awake? Oh but it was worth it! I was about the only person in that little theater on Parsis, but I sat right in the front row and pretended you were there with me. We have to do something like that again Dad and soon.

I just want you to know, that no matter what, if anything were to ever happen to me I would never just disappear from your lives. I've made arrangements to ensure that won't happen. I'm not trying to worry you, I'm fine, really I am, it's just we all lead such dangerous lives and it only makes sense to acknowledge that the worst could someday happen. It's just been on mind alot lately and I felt I needed to tell you. I couldn't quite tell Mum.

Oh bother, you probably think I'm hinting at something here and I swear, Dad, I'm not. I've just had some past weeks that were extra crazy, even for me. Being here with Mum has made me feel rather domestic, but on top of that it's reinforced the notion that I have a family now and I have a real responsibility to you both as my parents. And when you adopt, which I think is a smashing idea by the way, I'll have a responsibility to my new brother or sister. I just need you to know you can count on me. I can be responsible. I'm not that same person who used to go about vandalizing things and stealing buses. Ok, well I still am but in a much more reasonable and respectable way. You both think I'm such a good girl, I just want to live up to that. Perhaps I'm finally growing up.

Ok, enough blubbering from me.

The Doctor misses you, the TARDIS misses you and both send their love.

I miss you too.

Please stay safe. Your girls are counting the days until you come home.

Love,

Your daughter, Melody

Oh, P.S. Mum let me cut her hair a bit. Do you like it? We both do. Even if you don't for heaven's sake don't tell her!


	92. December 23 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that there were so many parallels between Rory and the Doctor that could have been explored but were left untouched on the show just kills me. I know TV is limiting, but that should be what books are for, but the books rarely address it either. So, I guess that's why fanfiction is needed. It's so obvious as to why Amy would have fallen for them both, in certain ways, circumstance has made them two sides of the same coin. I imagine the Doctor realizing that more and more as he reads. Though it would make him love Rory even more it would also make the loss more acute. I have had the final part of this chapter written for months, I was just waiting for the right moment to stick it in.
> 
> A brief historical note, I have Rory engaged in The Battle of the Bulge, the largest and in terms of loss of life, the costliest battle of WW2.
> 
> As always my translations from English to German are from my online searches and translation sites. If it's wrong and you can properly correct it, I'm all ears. :)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Doctor Rory Arthur Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm writing you from a makeshift infirmary, but don't worry, I'm fine. I got nicked by a bullet in the calf but no worries, it went straight through. I bandaged myself and kept moving but eventually it got infected. When I knew it was just a matter of time before it went septic I allowed myself to be treated. As I said, I'm fine now and should be back on the front within the next few days.

For this I received two citations the Purple Heart and the Silver Star. The first for the wound and the second for charging at a German machine gunner and taking his three man crew out with a grenade. It was a desperate and perhaps unwise things to do but we were pinned down and had been for hours, unable to move. To avoid a wholesale slaughter I...well, I suppose I did what I had to do. Bravery just means you're very good at looking not terrified, but I think you know that, Doctor. I was scared witless, but something else within me took over. Something that I trust and that saw me through year after year and campaign after campaign.

A few thousand years ago as  _Legatus Legionis_ , I was crowned with the title  _Ruaidhri Brittanicus Maximus_ which was followed by  _Germanicus Maximus_ ,  _Francicus, Gothicus_ and _Medicus._ They all just roughly translate to Rory, The Great Victor of and then fill in the blank. It sounds a lot better in Latin, doesn't it? Most things do. I've been knighted, once by Richard the I and then again by Queen Bess and received other varying commendations through the years. And each time I felt just as nervous and unsure then as I do now. I'm only doing my job, as always what is required of me to keep Amy safe. I am and ever shall be a loyal soldier and a loyal soldier requires no reward for said loyalty. Which is not to say I'm not proud, I am, I always just get really embarrassed. The very first thing I ever won was a certificate in Primary School when I was 7 for good behaviour and perfect attendance. I think that was the same year Amy got in trouble for kicking the headmaster in the shins. In any case, when the time comes, I will collect my medals with humility and respect. But always, I feel I understand you a little better, Doctor. I recall now how you hated for people to call you sir or salute, it feels false doesn't it? To accept it, feels as though I'm giving myself airs.

I write to you now, perched high in the mountains, entrenched in the frozen mud and muck of France. We are victims of our own success, Doctor. After Normandy, the Allies as a whole advanced towards Germany faster than expected. The line we hold here in Ardennes is thin. Besides Cherbourg, which the Germans effectively ravaged, we have no deep water ports under our power which means resupplying transports and drops are few and far between.

I recall freezing during a raw and brutal encampment near the Tiber in the 3rd century. I froze during the Crimean War in 1855 amidst the scandalous treatment of soldiers by the British Army and I freeze again now.

The snow here is a thick and unrelenting blanket. It assaults from all directions, wet, heavy clinging. The fog is dense and impenetrable to the point where I can barely see the man no further than arms length at my side. The trees are tall and foreboding and I feel as though they hold every danger possible, both conceived and unimaginable. We all feel that way and the deeper we advance into the forest the more we sense it gleefully close around us, happy that fools would so willingly enter its jaws.

It's nighttime now, quiet and still, the heavy snow both muffles and amplifies and I'm writing this by one of the brightest moons I've ever known..

My men and I are exhausted, hungry, filthy, stressed and stretched past our limits. Morale is low and I struggle everyday to aid them in keeping their spirits up and their guns ready. When our new chaplain is busy, which is actually quite often, the men come to me for spiritual advice. I struggle for the words I know they need to hear, but I feel more like a sham with each passing day. I'm no holy man, Doctor but I must provide what buffer I can against the depression of lost lives and lost limbs and the endless barrage of artillery fire.

As for myself, I actually find that I miss Jack. I think his irreverence would be a welcome relief at this point. I think he's the most optimistic realist I've ever met. I keep most of this from Amy. I tell her it's cold but I'm alive and we keep moving. This is the truth or at least a part of it. It's the only truth I can bear to write to my wife. So I hope you don't mind Doctor that I'm dumping this weariness on you.

The one mercy I suppose is always that this time around I don't have the Pandorica to protect, to worry about and fret over. I only have to look after myself. I was pressed into service to the Knights Templar in the Middle Ages, mercifully I avoided participation in the Crusades. The Pandorica became their prized posession and decade upon decade was spent trying to decipher and open it. Because they held such favor with the people and the church I felt safe with it being housed their under my watchful eye. But when the Knights fell out of the good graces of Pope Clement V, Amy and I again found ourselves on the move. I briefly donated it to the Vatican in 1231 and not long after had to win it from Marco Polo in a card game. The Pandorica was taken from my possession several times and each time I felt absolutely lost, and filled with a kind of fear I can't put into words. But I always got it back. I always got my Amy back.

When I fall asleep here I sometimes don't know what life I'm waking up to. Am I Auton Rory or human Rory? It's hard to tell, I've done all this before. So many wars, so many battles, my thoughts always turning towards Amy. Even waking up on the TARDIS sometimes left me unsure

Inevitably, what always prompted me to finally decide it was time to move the Pandorica was a surprise confrontation. The one that comes to mind now occured after the Blitz. I was near one of the channels and came across three Germans, most likely on a reconnaissance mission. When they saw me in my centurion gear they started laughing.

_Was trägt er?_

_Er muss denken, dass er Mark Antony ist!_

In German I told them to leave this place. I had no quarrel with them but if they stayed, I'd be forced to fight. They continued laughing and started to take an interest in the box.

They started talking about how they would kill me and take it. Perhaps call in a division to help with the transport. But they alone would get the credit and present it as a prize and tribute to the Fuhrer . Perhaps it would even earn them a C _harakter_  rank of  _Oberleutnant._

I warned them once more. I told them what would happen. And I knew if they left now, I would have the Pandorica out of the vicinity before they could report my location.

But they refused to listen and started to advance upon me.

I pulled out my sword and I beheaded the first man. Before the others could react I ran the second man through. The third one I had to chase down. He was screaming in the night and I feared his cries could be heard even over the bombing.

He kept shouting;

_Verrückter mit einer kiste!_  
_Verrückter mit einer kiste!_  
_Verrückter mit einer kiste!_

I finally caught up to him and forcing him to his knees I snapped his neck. I can still hear him sometimes, see those eyes looking up at me in fear before they went dull and dark. I would be damned before I allowed the Reich, the Axis or the Allies for that matter to get ahold of the Pandorica. It would not happen no matter how many men I had to kill in the process. And though I'd do it all over again, in a moment, in a heartbeat I can still hear him screaming.

Madman with a box!  
Madman with a box!  
Madman with a box!

Remember when I asked you if you had a room, Doctor? Is there a bed and if so, do you sleep at night? Do you sleep well?

Sometimes...I don't.

A belated Happy Birthday, my friend, (How many candles must that cake have now, eh?) I'm sorry I couldn't be there for yours or Amy's.

Take care of yourself and should you not hear from me beforehand, Happy Christmas.

All my love,

Rory


	93. December 24, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research on the Los Alamos facility for this letter, read a couple of great articles and skimmed through a few books written by people who lived there. This branch of the Manhattan Project was cloaked in incredible secrecy. But it was also a mess, the housing, the facilities, the school system. It was hard living with little contact with the outside world given the importance of their work.

24th of December 1944

My Dear Amy,

I am so very sorry for not having written to you in so long. I received you last letter and it gladdened my heart. I know that by now Dorabella has informed you of my situation. There has been little time to adjust to the stark differences between Chalk River and Los Alamos. I was plunged into my duties here and have not had even a moment to look back.

Dorabella will be joining me within the next month, I believe. It has been so difficult to obtain the proper permission and papers required and that in part accounts for the delay in her arrival. Our status as foreigners doesn't help matters.

I cannot say much. If I did it would most likely be redacted or this letter would be burned. I shall try to keep to generalities and pleasantries. I just wanted to warn you so that if you find my correspondence to be cold, distant or shamefully infrequent you not take it personally.

This facility was not put together with nearly the same amount of care as Chalk River, everything is rather slapdash. The weather is brutal, the snow and slush mix with the mud and overrun the sidewalks, coal soot covers everything and the summers promise to be their own unique version of hell. Housing is limited along with countless other basics, including water. Ironic considering the leaky nature of the faucets. I have managed to secure a small three room flat, bedroom/bath/kitchen.

A job it was thought could be done with 60 to 80 men has seen this community swell to over 6000. That alone has put a tremendous strain on this upstart town. The wind whips through the thin buildings at night and I get the distinct impression that it might crumble down around me. Of course  _that_ gives the impression that I'm able to get much sleep. We work 12 to 16 hour days, 6 days a week, moving from site to site, project to project, exhaustion to exhaustion. I don't require sleep, however I do enjoy time to myself to write to Dorabella as well as you.

I eat in the general commissary with my colleagues, we have a movie theater that shows films three nights a week. There's a small frozen lake that might be ideal for skating should Dorabell arrive before the thaw. These are some of the brighter spots.

However we are restricted from telephone use outside of those available at the Post, our mail must be delivered to censors unsealed, our ability to take photographs is all but prohibited. Secrecy, absolute and total secrecy is the word of this day and every day.

I've taken up smoking again, I hope you'll pardon me.

How are you my dear. I miss you so. I miss your irreverent take on the world. I miss your boisterous letters and the youthful exuberance you bring into my life.

Your letters to me, however will not be censored and I so look forward to receiving them. Please know that even if I fail to respond I have read and re-read them time and time again. How are things with you and dear Rory? I sincerely hope all is well and that you know how both of you frequently occupy my thoughts.

Oh, and lest I forget, Merry Christmas. Here's hoping next year will see us all in better spirits and circumstances.

-Always yours,

Bracey


	94. December 25, 1944 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided Courtesy of Mr. Brian Anthony Williams**

25th of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I can hear the strains of choir singing at the makeshift midnight mass which means it is officially Christmas. My first Christmas in a long while without Amy and it's very, very hard. I miss her terribly and being away during the holidays is a special kind of misery. On top of that, I still haven't been released from the infirmary yet. The truth is that doctor's like to override other doctor's, it's an absurd power thing. I say I'm well enough to return to the fight they pretend to respectfully disagree.

I guess I'm not entirely sure it even matters. Christmas in an infirmary, Christmas next to the icy slush of the forest. I feel as far away from Amy in this moment as I do from you. Honestly I feel like crying. I never would, not here, but the weight of this past year is extraordinarily heavy tonight.

I'm questioning myself, Doctor. Have I done the right thing? Were we both so frightened about this border around Manhattan that we can't cross that we made it up? I don't believe that's true though, I trust my instincts, I've never been served by doubting them. But still, a part of me won't let go of the idea that we should have run. I'm not exactly afraid of dying but I am ever afraid of making Amy a widow. Being here riles my blood and make me take chances, chances I would never dream of taking anywhere else. I hate how the fight get's into your bones, Doctor, because it does. I feel vulnerable and stir crazy right now without a rifle in my hands. I hope, should I make it out of here and back home that this feeling dies away as it always has in the past. I lived for years and years in peace as an auton. I hope I haven't given you the impression that it was all bitter battle and worry. I lived for many, many centuries peacefully amongst the Celtic tribe known as the Brigantes in the Tyne Valley. I spent my days farming in wonderful solitude and talking to Amy. The hills and slopes of the land were perfect for camouflaging the Pandorica. It was actually one of the happier times for me, just me and the wife, winding our days away. It's the same peace I'd grown to feel in Manhattan.

May I be shockingly honest, Doctor? There are occasions when I wish she hadn't come back for me. Not because I didn't want her to. Not because it wasn't the happiest day of my life to see her on the street that morning of the hurricane. But because she's been through enough. Haven't I hurt her enough? I've trapped her here in the past, I'm thousands of miles away and unable to protect her. She would have been safer with you. I know she loves me just as strongly as I love her. But maybe, had he stayed with you, you could have helped her forget. Perhaps, you could have  _made_ her forget. You told me once about your other friend and how you erased her memory. I don't know how I could live without Amy except if I knew she was safe and with you.

Don't forget what you have to do should it come to that. It's written and you read it, so I won't repeat it here. But I expect you to live up to your word. You owe us that.

And it's not just Amy. I got this letter from Melody, a lovely letter. She's been looking after her mum, spending time with her. She also said she's been missing me as I've been missing her. But throughout it all there was this theme of, I won't disappoint you, Dad. She's so worried about letting us down or not living up to some standard that we've set for her. But it isn't true, I am so incredibly proud of my daughter, today and everyday. My little girl is amazing and wonderful and brilliant and no father could be more delighted. But you see, I feel this is my fault too. Having made sure we were stuck here, like I did, assures that she's stuck here as well. Putting her life on hold, dropping back to visit us, taking time away from her own goals and dreams and even taking time away from you. This isn't fair. None of this is fair.

I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm usually not this maudlin. But it's the Christmas music juxtaposed against the sound of bombs and artillery fire that's driving me a bit mad. It's my wifes favorite holiday and the reality of being even farther from her than when she was caged in the Pandorica. It's all those things and more. I just wish I was with her right now.

If I could I'd-

**Curator's Note: This is not an error on our part. Doctor Williams' journal entry cuts off abruptly here.**


	95. December 23, 1944 (Melody)

**_Curators Historical Footnote: The following correspondence was sent via an archaic method of subversive communication known as "Underlay". Underlay involves one layer of text being hidden beneath another layer. Doctor Song contacted the Doctor using Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams' diary. The page upon which the former wrote would appear blank to the latter allowing for the clandestine transmission of said message to the Doctor._ **

* * *

 

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Time Delayed: From Doctor River Song/Melody Pond to the Doctor**   
**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of December 1944

Dear Sweetie,

I might be a little late for our date tonight but don't blow those candles out just yet.

I had to give Dad a ride home.

It wasn't hard to locate him and I just couldn't resist. I donned a nurses outfit, (which by the way, I am  _definitely_ keeping so you and I can play our own special version of Hospital later) snuck into the infirmary where they were keeping him, grabbed his wrist and before he could say anything I brought him to Manhattan.

Melody, darling, what are you doing?

We arrived in he and Mum's bedroom I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as I could.

Every good soldier deserves a furlough. This is my Christmas present to you, Dad. To you and Mum. I can get you back no more than a minute after you left. But, I just thought you both needed some time together, alone.

I just... I don't even know what to say.

Doctor, you should have seen his face. I saw tears well up in his eyes and he hugged me again. The kind of hug I imagine only your father can give you, tight and bracing. It squeezes you so hard you can barely breathe and all you want is for him to hold you even tighter.

Thank you, my little love.

You're welcome, Daddy.

He was thinner than when I last saw him, the exhaustion showed on his face. He looked older. I worry about what he's seen and what memories have been stirred to the surface. Just the way I worry for you, Doctor.

Where's your Mum?

That's the best part. It's the morning of the 23rd. I made plans to meet her for breakfast and then she and Sunny and I are going to spend the day together. Then I'm going to bring her back here. Don't worry, you'll have tonight, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and your birthday. I'll come back for you on the 27th and get you back to France just a few minutes after you left. If they suspect you were missing at the most they'll figure you went to the loo.

But-

I know, Dad. You want to see her now. But you're exhausted and filthy. Take a shower, have a bite to eat, then take a nap, a really long one. You'll want to look and feel your best when you see her. Come on, daughters orders.

He quite reluctantly relented.

You're right. I love you, Melody. Thank you so much for this.

Anything for you, Dad. I mean that.

I know you do. You're not going to tell her are you?

Of course not, she hates to have a Christmas surprise spoiled. Now, I'm going to have a quick change and pop off to meet Mum. I'll see you this evening.

See you then, dear.

I watched him shuffle off to the shower, bemused and happy and when he turned on the water I sat down to scribble this off to you. I've got a busy day ahead of me but it promises to be a delightful one.

Then, I believe, Nurse Song has quite an evening in store for you.

You strike me as a very unruly patient, Sweetie. I may just have to strap you down.

Kiss-Kiss,

River


	96. December 23, 1944 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Entry By Doctor Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December, 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm using Amy's journal because when Melody brought me here I accidentally left mine behind. A day can turn around in a flash, can't it?

Mid shower, Spartacus came bursting through the door nearly fightening me to death. He jumped into the bathtub and greeted me with typical canine exuberance. He's so big now and I'd forgotten how much I missed him. I happily petted him until he calmed down and he waited dutifully for me outside of the shower on our rug.

God, I've missed creature comforts. Shampoo, hot, clean water, shaving cream, sharp razors and a mirror bigger than my palm. Actually the mirror wasn't all that great or rather my reflection wasn't. I look worn, my cheeks are hollow, my skin pale, splotchy and rough. There were scars I hadn't noticed before. A spray of whitish flecks on my neck. Shrapnel explosion? I couldn't remember. There was a jagged scar on my hand, old, hardened, I think it was caused by my weapon misfiring months ago. Again, I couldn't remember.

Perhaps most shocking of all were the gray hairs. There was a concentration of white and silver around my temples and streaks and strands ran through my hair elsewhere. I'm aging. I'm three days away from turning forty and it shows. On one hand, that's frightening, the passing of time always is. But on the other there's a thrill after not having seen my face change for long. To see that I am indeed human. I'm real. I'm not an auton. I'm not plastic. After a 2000 year holding pattern, life has finally started.

Still, I hope Amy won't mind. I hope she won't think she's getting an old codger. Then again she does have a thing for older men doesn't she? Ha ha.

It's strange being in the flat on my own, eerily quiet except for the panting of Spartacus at my side. I imagine what it must feel like for Amy, walking these halls with just her own thoughts, missing me as much as I miss her.

I put on some night clothes and padded to the kitchen. The refrigerator was an oasis and I have to admit I essentially gorged myself, sitting there at the table, going through mountains of mail and tossing scraps to Spartacus.

A walk around the flat relieved not much had changed. A few new photos here and there, a new rug in the living room, a slight rearrangement of furniture. Her laptop was perched on the sofa next to a notebook and a few balls of wadded up paper. I'm glad she's still writing, I'm glad she's able to get along without me.

What really stuck out to me is that Amy hadn't purchased a Christmas tree. There were no decorations, nothing festive. I couldn't blame her. I was just lamenting how little I wanted to celebrate myself. That would have to be the first thing we take care of tomorrow. Tomorrow. What a lovely sounding word again, Doctor. For once, tomorrow doesn't hold more walking or fighting or struggling or freezing. It promises the sweetest of all respites, laying in bed with Amy, waking up in her arms.

I'm exhausted, darling. It's about 10 AM and I think I'm going to finally try and get some sleep. The entire bed smells like Amy and I want nothing more right now than to sink into it. I can't wait to wake up and find her here.

Goodnight, Doctor.

Or rather, good morning.

Love,

Rory

 


	97. December 23, 1944 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
 **Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
 **Frequency: Intermittent**  
 **Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I have my husband back.

If only for a moment, if only for a few days. But I absolutely have him back right now.

In retrospect, it all makes sense, but at the time I thought it was weird when Melody suggested we spend the day out. We're more homebodies, Doctor or at least I am and I'd much rather have an afternoon in with my daughter than go traipsing all over town. I suspected initially she was worried about me. You know with the holidays and all and truth be told that was exactly the reason I'd rather have stayed home. But I can't say no to my daughter, so I agreed to meet her for coffee so we could plan out the rest of our day.

Imagine my surprise when I walked up and saw her chatting with Sunny.

We all greeted each other and exchanged kisses and I seated myself and tugged off my mittens. It was fairly cold today and I was eager for some hot coffee.

Amy, you never told me your cousin Melody was so delightful. I haven't seen you, in what, a year?

Last Thanksgiving, yes. Melody answered with a smile. Ok, so she was my cousin, I could go with that.

And we didn't get to speak much.

No, I took ill which I admit put a bit of a damper on the celebration.

Amy, why didn't you tell me you were going away for the holiday, we had planned to have you over.

I paused. This was the first I'd heard of it, Doctor.

Um, I guess it slipped my mind.

Just a little trip to reconnect with family. Melody supplied giving me a look that said she'd explain later.

Well it sounds very nice and you deserve it. Will you be back in time for the new year?

I don't know Melody, will we? I asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Most definitely, I'm fairly certain you'll be back in town by the evening of the 27th or at least the 28th.

I nodded. It was good to know that if I was going on a trip it was both ways.

We sipped our coffee and continued to chat. Melody as always was unphased by whatever time she wound up in. I couldn't imagine the extensive knowledge she must keep in that brain of hers, Doctor. She reminds me a lot of you. I'm just so proud of her. There she sat, talking to Sunny and more informed about the pop culture and movies and politics and history and gossip of the time than I was. I admit, lately I'd tuned out a little. The depression had started to overtake me again. i didn't leave the house as much, I hadn't been listening to the radio, I'd been struggling to get one coherent sentence on a page. I can just picture you frowning as you read this. I know, I haven't exactly mentioned it to you. I've been keeping secrets.

Melody operated smoothly and from coffee we slipped easily into shopping. She played the part of the generous relative and started buying things for the three of us. She understands money a lot better than you do, Doctor. Sunny protested but Melody insisted saying what was money for if you couldn't spend it on people? Besides it was Christmas. It's hard not to get into the spirit of things when my little girl is around and soon I found myself joining in on her fun.

At one point Sunny dashed off to the loo leaving Melody and I alone standing outside of Saks. I linked arms with her and whispered,

Going on a trip, are we?

Now, wherever would you get that idea? Honestly, mother sometimes I don't know what you're talking about.

You're planning something.

Not at all. Oh look, FAO Schwarz is just up the block, can we go in, please? Remember how we used to talk about it when we were kids? All we wanted to do was run about a toy store, preferably late at night after they shut.

Of course we can go, but Melody, listen to me. I'm just not in the mood for a celebration this year. I'd like you to come back home with me but honestly I'd rather just spend the 25th eating a turkey sandwich and trying to write a bit. No tree, no lights, no surprises, ok? Give your old Mum a break, eh?

She didn't promise anything but she didn't not promise either. We visited the toy store and picked up a few things for Sunny's kids and then went to Macy's and Gimbels and about a dozen other shops. We stopped by the tree in Rockefeller Center. It was huge and lush but due to wartime restrictions it wasn't lit. In fact no tree we passed for the entire day was lit up. I couldn't pry any further information out of my daughter, Doctor, so eventually I let it go. Who am I kidding, a good shop does sometimes help to clear the mind. I brought quite a few things to donate to the Salvation Army, toys and clothes and such. I was happy that we were able to make Sunny happy, she was beaming and after the year she'd had I knew she needed this, time out, time for herself. I put aside my own selfish feelings and decided to focus on giving my daughter and my friend a lovely day.

It was lovely but it was also long and by early evening, loaded down with bags I was ready to head back home. We put Sunny in a cab alone under the guise of having a train to catch. I kissed and hugged her goodbye, wished her a Happy Christmas and promised we'd get together again as soon as possible.

Finally alone, I turned to my daughter.

Ok, young lady, out with it, what's going on?

Going on? She said innocently. I'm taking us home. What say we go the quick route?

She grabbed my hand, the one that wasn't loaded down with bags and seconds later the vortex manipulator had returned us to our flat.

Figuring I wouldn't get an answer from her because Melody is Melody, I decided to just take this odd day for what it was.

Are you staying, love? I can fix us something to eat, we can watch Christmas Vacation on Netflix. Remember how much we liked that movie as kids?

I remember, Mum.

I removed my coat, hat and mittens shaking off the snow. Spartacus circled excitedly around our feet and I reached down to pet him.

I'll put the kettle on. We'll just settle in for the evening, yeah?

Actually, Mum I can't stay.

Oh. I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice but it wasn't easy. Of course, dear. I understand. But you will drop by for Christmas, won't you?

She hesitated.

I don't think so. You won't be needing me. Not this year.

I turned to her in surprise.

Won't be needing you? I always need you and I always want you. What are you going on about? If you have other plans, I suppose I understand, but I always need you.

I'm sorry, Mum. This is coming out a little wrong. Maybe we could talk about it in your bedroom.

In my bedroom? I'm half expecting some awful surprise party. Ok, we'll go to my bedroom. I'm going to change out of these clothes and into some pyjamas and you can explain why you're being so strange.

I put my arm around her and we started walking.

I remember coming down our hallway.

I remember entering my bedroom.

And I remember seeing Rory lying there, sleeping, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Great. I thought. Now, I'm hallucinating.

Everything started to swim before my eyes. I felt the ground rushing towards me...or actually I was rushing towards it.

Well...shit.

Those were the last two words I said and then I hit the floor.

I woke up to being kissed.

Amy? Amy, love?

Mmmm...I always do like this dream. I never know when I'm going to have it. When you're just going to appear but I'm always so happy when you do.

Yeah, me too. But can you wake up a bit and open your eyes?

Not on your life. If I wake up, you disappear.

I'm pretty sure I won't. Just look at me for one second.

Ok, but if you vanish, I'm going to be right ticked off.

I opened my eyes and as I focused, Rory came into view. My beautiful, beautiful, Rory.

See, still here. And then he smiled. There was that smile I'd been missing forever.

How can this be real?

It's real because our daughter is selfless and amazing.

It isn't possible. I reached out to touch his face, just to feel him.

For most people no, but not for Melody. One minute I was in the informary listening to the sound of gunfire and the next I saw her and we vanished into that flash of light. Then I was here. She brought me home to you for Christmas.

You're really here? I just couldn't quite believe it. I knew it sounded daft to keep repeating it over and over again but I'd had so many dreams where I thought this was true only to wake up alone.

I'm really here.

How long do I have you?

Three days, one afternoon and  _four nights_.

I sat bolt right up on the bed and wrapped my arms around him and he did the same.

Right. Melody said suddenly appearing in our doorway. All better then? I managed to catch you before you hit your head on the floor.

And you, Miss. I knew you had something up your sleeve. I didn't think it would be this wonderful.

It's the least I could do. But are you ok?

Yeah, yeah I'm fine.

Good, then I'm off and I'll leave you in Dad's capable hands.

Wait, Melody, again with the leaving. You have to go so soon? We could have some family time together.

Mum, I think you both need some husband and wife time. She said with a grin.

Fair enough, that answers that question. But up next, why are you in a nurses uniform? It's really not helping me accept the idea that this isn't a dream.

It also seems a lot shorter than I remember. Rory said with a paternal furrowing of his brow.

She laughed merrily.

Yeah, I gave it a bit of an alteration.  _I_ need some husband and wife time myself.

Sometimes, daughter, you do give us a bit too much information. Rory chided gently. You're lucky you're married because otherwise I'd never let you out of the house in that.

You're both ones to talk. She said and then turned her focus to me saying, As if I'm the only one in this family with a naughty nurses costume.

I blushed and laughed. When your daughter was also at one point her parents best mate, the dynamic is never going to be all that normal.

We don't know how to thank you for this, dear. I said to her and Rory nodded.

You don't have to thank me. Just don't waste a moment with one another. I scheduled a Christmas tree delivery for noon tomorrow. Christmas dinner is in the fridge. Neither of you have to lift a finger.

Come back for Christmas, please. Rory implored.

I'll do my best. Mum, Dad I love you. See you soon.

And then she was gone and Rory and I settled back into bed together.

I've missed you more than I ever thought possible. He said stroking my cheek with his thumb.

We kissed and kissed and kissed and then kissed a bit more only breaking apart for air.

Then a thought occurred to me.

Oi! Why were you in the infirmary?

Oh...um...I may have very  _slightly_ been shot.

Rory!

In the calf! In the calf! He said holding up his hands defensively.

Why didn't you  _tell_ me?

Well, because  _this_. Because there's no reason to make you worry when you're already constantly at a 9.5 on the Worry-For-Rory Scale.

9.5 on a good day.

Point. I'm fine, really. In fact, had it not been for Melody, I probably would have been back on my feet and out there fighting tonight. Or rather tomorrow night. It was Christmas Eve slash very early Christmas morning when we left.

You swear you're alright?

I swear.

Ok, then, but no more secrets.

Alright but in that same vein, you've lost weight.

It was true and I bit my lip and glanced away from him.

Amy, look at me, please. It's not an accusation just an observation. You're obviously not doing all that well yourself.

I was for a while. And I hate to sound ungrateful, I mean we have so many advantages. I get to write to you every single night. I can look online and know what's coming. We know when the war is going to end not to mention you being zapped here tonight. It's just the last few months have been so stressful without you. I'm lonely and Bracey is really going through a tough time of his own. Sunny is having problems. I can't write, nothing comes out how I want it. Then with the hurricane and the earthquake-

I'm sorry, let me stop you right there. Hurricane and earthquake?

Did I neglect to mention that?

Yeah, yeah I think you did.

We had a slight earthquake in September and an even slighter hurricane a short time later.

Oh, well as long as they were just a slight ones.

We both sighed at the same time.

We're not very good at this, are we? He asked.

Nope. We never have been. But then again, I think we're doing the best we can.

So we'll try to be more honest with each other? Shall we?

We could give it a shot.

Alright then. Honesty. And speaking honestly for a moment, I don't want to waste our time talking about how sad we are. I'm happy now.

Me too. By the way I really like your hair.

I laughed and gave him a gentle shove.

Melody told you to say that.

She didn't, I swear. The first time I saw it, I liked it.

What a few minutes ago?

No, she sent me a picture. Wrote me a lovely letter and included a picture of you while you were sleeping. I take it out and look at it every night. Makes me feel like we're not so far from one another.

I didn't know she did that.

Yeah, not a bad girl we raised for being two kids ourselves.

Not bad at all. Rory?

Hmm?

I'm 40.

Yeah...I know. I'll be right there with you in a few days.

Do you think I'm still hot?

I think you are unbelievably hot. In fact, I've seen with my own eyes that you're going to maintain that hotness with no signs of slowing down heading into your 60's.

Yeah but she was running from her life battling handbots. I don't know that I'll have as many occasions to keep quite so shipshape.

Amy, you're beautiful. Remember what I told you. No...I guess that wasn't you. Not  _this_ you at least. The only thing that would ever upset me is if we didn't get a chance to grow old together.

So you do think I'm old? I asked teasing him with a straight face.

No! Of course I don't I-...You're kidding.

We had been laying side by side and now he pulled me into his arms, flush against his body.

And you're not the only one who's a bit self conscious, you know. I didn't think I'd be coming back to you with all this gray.

I ran my hands through his hair and smiled. I had noticed. I'd noticed how much thinner he was, the dark circles under his eyes, the gray that peppered his blond. No matter what he was my luminous Rory.

I think you look very, very handsome and quite hot yourself, Mr. Pond.

Hot am I? He said with a devilish grin. He bridged his body over mine and I relished the feel of his weight above me. It had been so long and no fantasy was ever as sweet as reality. God, it had been _so_ long.

It's been nine months. He said as though he were reading my thoughts. Nine months since I was with you. Since I kissed you. Since I held you. Since I tasted you.

Do you feel...up to it? I asked as his lips found my neck. Somehow, it seemed wrong to just assume a man who'd been off fighting the Second World War would just be ready at the drop of a hat.

He chuckled against my throat and I shivered and pulled him closer.

I don't think I can recall the last time I've been more ready. I want to taste you, Amy.

We parted only briefly to shimmy out of our clothes and...well...

I'm not sure you want me to go into it, Doctor. A little propriety, Pond! I can almost hear you say. But I think I know you a bit too  _intimately_  to buy that prudish act of yours.

In any case, let me tell you, for a man who has been in the trenches for months and presumably driven to exhaustion Rory shags like an energetic teenage boy. Forty-schmorty! As a matter of fact he's nibbling on my shoulder now, I think he wants to go again.

Guess I have to cut this short, Doctor.

Love across the stars,

Amy and Rory


	98. December 26, 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a weird way this chapter is as much for you guys as for Melody. I know a lot of you think this story is sad and angsty and it's true, it is. But I also believe it's lovely and happy and wonderful and in a way very, very ordinary. Because it's written from diaries and journals and correspondence, the most emotional things the characters experience tend to wind up in those formats. The miscarriage, the war, the sacrifice the at times strained parent/child relationships, even the pain of missing an absent best friend and/or lover, that's all normal. Some of that is happening, right now either around us or to some of us right here in 2013. And maybe, hopefully, we don't think of our lives as relentlessly sad. As Amy tells the Doctor, "It's life. Just life. That thing that goes on when you're not there." So I guess I find Epistolary weighty, but not necessarily all that relentlessly depressing. I hope you don't either. Yes, sometimes I do want to make you guys cry but I also really like making you smile, too. :)
> 
> What else...umm...in the preview for The Bells of St. John apparently you can see Clara reading a book by an Amelia Williams called Summer Fall. (Isn't that great! I'll always fall for a Pond reference!) I don't know what it's about but I figured I'd put it in anyways just in case.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm just writing this on a spare piece of notebook paper that I'll add to my journal when I get back. Days in France drag on as did days outside the Pandorica but days with Amy, Doctor, these days have flown. I'm not the least bit embarrassed to say we've spent the rest of the 23rd and a good chunk of the 24th like newlyweds, barely leaving our bedroom much less the bed. I must say I'm pleased that at 40, or at least a few hours away from being 40, everything is working precisely the way I expect it to, if you know what I mean. That's good since we're 54 years out from the creation of Viagra. Guess you don't really have to worry about that do you, mate? Am I talking too much about sex? You'll have to forgive me, but its been a nonstop shag-a-thon and I've rather excited about it.

We spent Christmas Eve decorating the tree and diving into the turkey dinner early. I think we both need to put on a bit of weight so the caloric bonanza will probably do us well. We took a long, hot bath together, Amy pulled securely between my legs her head resting on my chest, just enjoying the quirt of one another. I read through as many of her articles as she'd let me and she bounced a few ideas off me. She's an amazing writer, Doctor but at the moment she's torn between several ideas, her column, books about you and a completely separate idea for a novel she's tentatively titled Summer Falls. I'll let her tell you about that.

We slept in on Christmas and were awakened a little after eleven to the scent of Melody preparing breakfast. We padded into the kitchen and found her in the midst of bubbling pots and popping skillets.

Why didn't you wake us? I asked before giving our daughter a kiss on the cheek.

I peeked in and you were both fast asleep...

Melody paused then and suddenly looked troubled.

What is it, dear? Amy asked and hurried to her side to put her arm about her.

Nothing. She said forcing a smile. I just hope I'll always get to do this for you both. For years and years to come.

What, you mean like when we're grizzled and gray pensioners slumping about on walkers? Hear that, Amy, her parents turn forty and she's ready to put us in an old peoples home or a grave.

I was joking but she didn't laugh.

That's not funny. That's not funny at all, Dad.

She pulled away from Amy and I instantly felt terrible. She had returned to the stove to poke at a skillet of scrambled eggs that didn't require poking. I strode over to my daughter quickly trying to beat Amy's You-Had-Better-Fix-What-You-Did look before she unleashed it and failing.

Melody, I'm sorry. Bad joke, really bad joke.

Yes, it was. She said quickly. I find your deaths a bit of a prickly subject, alright?

I understand. I said hugging her from behind. We know how badly you want to take care of us and you  _have_ , you  _are_. Look at everything you've done. My God, what would we have done here without you? You've given us more than what we need and you keep on giving. I turned her around in my arms to get a good look at her face. You're feeling guilty, aren't you?

She angrily batted away a tear. There was not one incarnation of my daughter that I had known that ever felt all that comfortable crying. Alright, well the infant was pretty at ease with it.

Of course I feel guilty. It's my fault that you're even here.

I shared a bewildered glance with Amy who drew closer to flank Melody's side.

How do you figure that?

It's one of the reasons the Doctor can't travel alone. He gets distracted and it's always a distraction of the extremes. Either he's so worried he becomes overly cautious and misses what's right in front of him or he gets so emotional he forgets to be cautious. When you two came back to him, he was overcome. I've rarely seen him so open and...happy.

Tears started to burn my eyes a little then, Doctor, as I remember just how hard you embraced us for what would turn out to be the last time.

It was my job. She continued. My job to recognize that and realize he wasn't in the best frame of mind and keep a lookout. For Christ sake, what sense did it make to be buggering about in a graveyard talking about bloody repainting the bloody, buggering TARDIS. We should have gone inside, immediately. We should have left New York and never, ever looked back.

I hugged her close to me.

Melody, that was years ago. Your mother and I went through this ourselves when we first arrived. But we agreed we would not build our lives on a foundation of Should-Haves and Might-Have-Beens and I won't have you doing it either.

I pulled back and bent my knees so I could make direct eye contact with her.

This is not anyone's fault, least of all yours. This is just...life. And you know what, it's not exceptionally sad or awful. I am so incredibly grateful and lucky. I'm with my wife. Amy or I could have been sent to God knows where, separated by oceans of time. But though...I hesitate to even say it, perhaps we're together because of the mercy of an Angel.

I've always looked at it that way. Amy said. I offered myself as a willing sacrifice and it took pity on us.

They don't work that way! There was no pity! No mercy! Don't ascribe emotions to something so parenthetically evil. It was a cycle, Dad. That's all.

Maybe, but that's not how we choose to look at it.

I lead her over to the kitchen table and sat her down before Amy and I pulled up next to her.

Melody, your Mum and I consider ourselves very, very lucky. Yes, times have been hard, the war, being separated, losing Adora. But we have made memories here that we cherish. We've created a life here and a damn good one.

Damn good. Amy echoed.

And no one should be sorry for that. It's not what we planned, but I have my wife, my daughter, my health. And I'll be back home before you know it.

She glanced at us both with shining eyes.

But I could have stopped it. She insisted.

We know you think that. Amy said quietly.

You  _don't_  know. She said with a shake of her curls.

Of course we do. I insisted. When you came to see me off...oh, you were so very, very young. You didn't know why I was here, you didn't understand.

Amy nodded.

Your Dad and I talked about it. If you didn't know then that could only mean Manhattan hadn't happened for you yet. But you knew something was coming. Something that would irrevocably separate us from the Doctor. But since you didn't know when or where or how there was nothing you could have done. And even if you could, as the Doctor said, as  _you_ said, it might have torn New York apart. We couldn't be responsible for that. You did help us. You helped the Doctor let me go. We're ok. Yeah, life is hard and scary but it was hard in London 74 years from now. But it's also happy and funny and exciting and filled with so much promise. All I know is that in the future your Dad and I nearly got divorced and now we're stronger than we've ever been and I've got a wedding to plan for and a baby to adopt all waiting for me in the near future.

Damn him. Melody swore. Damn him for what amounts to clinging to a bunch of cultural non sequiturs. There is no more Gallifrey. There are no laws to preserve, no courts. No one is keeping score. There are no Timelords left!

There's you. I said softly. I took her hand and raised it to my lips to kiss her knuckles. There is still one glorious Timelady left. I know he does it for him, he does it because it's the right thing to do. He does it to keep some small flame of his home and his birth, burning inside him. He does it as an example to us. But I think he also does it for you, Melody. To show you...no that's not the proper word. To  _remind_ you that there is a right and a wrong and sometimes there's a terrible price to be paid for both of them. But when you make the right choice, if you take the long view, it's worth it.

She looked at me hopefully and I was glad to see our words had gotten through all that anger and guilt.

He would do anything for you, Melody, I hope you know that.

She nodded.

I couldn't wish for my daughter to be with a better man. So, no more bearing this cross, alright. Just set it down.

She nodded again and I kissed her atop the head.

Alright, so should we start Christmas?

Both of my girls answered enthusiastically and we dug into the breakfast Melody had made.

The rest of the day was low key, we didn't have any gifts to exchange, all of us agreed we'd gotten our best presents by just being together. We sat near the tree, we ate...a lot actually and we just talked. God, how I've missed just talking about nothing, about everything. A lot of the time I just listened, holding one or both of my girls to me. Christmas night I drove them around and we looked at the lights, people had put up as decoration. Just like last year, Melody left us a little after midnight after wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Amy and I have one more day and two more night together. It's not enough, of course, but I'm going to do my best to try and make it enough for both of us.

We're going to bed now, love. Yes,  _back_ to bed. You know, had the three of us made a go of it, I think we might have worn you out. Cheeky yes, but it's my birthday and I'm really happy. I deserve to be a bit cheeky.

Wish me a Happy 40th and Happy Christmas, Doctor.

I hope it was a good one for you as well.

Love,

Rory

P.S. It's a few hours later and I'm sitting in our kitchen. I got hungry so I decided on a late night clandestine fridge raid. it got me thinking about all the evening talks we used to have on the TARDIS. I just wanted to tell you, especially at times like this, you are keenly missed and infinitely loved. Do I say that too much?  _Can_  one say that too much? I don't think so.

I wish you were here, my friend. I miss you. Without you, our family will always be incomplete.

We love you,

-Rory


	99. December 27, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

27 of December, 1944

Dear Doctor,

Rory and I have had our fair share of goodbyes. This one, at least, didn't take us by surprise. I didn't want to waste my last few hours with him by sleeping and neither did he. We just lay in bed and talked for awhile and I tried to weld the feeling of his arms around me and his voice in my ear to my memory.

I don't know how I feel about raising a child in the city. He said suddenly.

What other option do we have?

There are some small neighborhoods. Here and there. In our old time they were mostly gone but Manhattan as a whole isn't quite so urban yet. We could get a little house with a garden and a yard. He kissed my temple and I smiled and snuggled closer. I want our child to have some place to romp and play and run and shout, just like we did. I want them to make friends and get into trouble.

And go to the park. And trick-or-treat. I want to give them an amazing life.

Me too. And I don't think we'll have any problems adopting either. I know you've been worrying about that.

He was right, of course. I had.

I hope you're right.

I know I'm right. I'm a veteran and a doctor. You're a successful writer.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I chuckled.

We're wealthy, we're established. They'll be throwing babies at us. He joked.

I wasn't so sure but I did take comfort from his words.

I hope you're right. But I won't feel it's real until we actually have him or her. Any preference?

None at all, love. You?

I don't think so. No, I  _know_ so. It doesn't matter to me in the slightest. But what shall we tell them, about us? About who we are? Who we were?

He sighed deeply and looked contemplative for a moment.

I've thought about that and I believe we should tell them the truth. When they're old enough to understand of course. I don't want to hide our lives from our son or daughter.

Me neither.

I won't let the Doctor become someone we whisper about or worse yet someone we don't talk about at all. I don't think we could hide it anyways. Not with Melody popping in and out via futuristic transport. Not to mention, I'm pretty proud of us. We're the subject of some pretty good stories ourselves.

He's right of course. The three of us made some pretty good stories didn't we, Doctor? You always said we're all just stories in the end.

We made love once more and when we were done I held his head against my chest, and he kissed my breasts as I stroked his hair.

I'm going to miss you, birthday boy. I'm going to miss this.

Me too. He said softly and I felt a few errant tears hit my skin. And I realized, Doctor, it was my turn to comfort him as he always did me.

Hey, Mr. Pond, it won't be long now, ok. A few more months. That's all and then we'll be back together, the way we're meant to be. Amy and Rory. We've got a wedding to plan, a lot of adoption forms to fill out and apparently a move. We have our whole lives ahead of us.

He nodded and sniffled and I kissed the crown of his head.

You just stay safe, ok. Just stay safe, try to minimize the heroics and come back to me. Please, Rory, promise me you'll come back to me.

He turned his head to look up at me, his eyes red rimmed and wet.

I promise, Amy. I will always come back to you.

I gave him my best teary smile

The sound of Melody's arrival in the other room was unmistakable, the crackle of the vortex manipulator meant our time was up.

Mum? Dad? She said called out tentatively before knocking on the door. I'm afraid it's time.

We'll be out in a second, love. Ok? He called.

Of course. I'm just going to pack some things up for you.

We heard her move away from the door and I felt the heavy weariness seep back into my husbands body.

I expected the next words he said to be sad and resigned but he surprised me.

Amy, this did me so much good.

That was my Rory, ever grateful, always teaching me lessons of gratitude.

Me too. I feel like we can do this. I feel like we can make it.

Me too.

He smiled and kissed me before rising from the bed. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge as I watched him get dressed. We couldn't clean his uniform because it wouldn't make sense to have him arrive back in France pristine and new. He put on just as it was when he stepped out of it, stiff and caked with mud.

He really did look better than when he'd first arrive. His skin wasn't as pale, the circles were gone from under his eyes. He may have even gained a little weight. I stood up and put on my dressing gown and gave him a hug.

Amy, I'm filthy. He said embracing me all the same.

Don't care.

I'll write everyday just like before. Nothing changes.

Nothing changes.

I love you, Amy. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He held me tightly, fiercely, squeezing me so hard I couldn't breathe and I didn't care. I didn't need to breathe in Rory's arms.

The rest happened pretty quickly. We left the bedroom, greeted Melody and said our last goodbye.

I'll write to you as soon as I get back. I mean in a way I already have. I'm going back on the 25th, so everything I will write you I already have. It's in the bedside drawer or it will be. He concluded with a teary chuckle. Life of a married time travelling couple, eh?

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

He kissed me once more and then Melody took his hand.

I will see you on Tuesday, Amy.

Happy Birthday, Rory. See you on Tuesday.

And then they were gone.

It's quite a few hours later now. He made it back safely, we've already been writing to each other. He's back in the fray and I've had myself a good long cry, laying in the bed sheets that still smell of him, of us together.

Just a few more days Doctor and it'll be 1945. A brand new year. Another chance, the end of the war on the horizon and the start of a quiet life for the Pond-Williams'.

Then again, knowing us, probably not too quiet.

We love you Doctor. Happy New Year.

Love across the stars,

Your Amy


	100. January 19, 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N For security purposes and because of the desire to remain anonymous, Winston Churchill often traveled under the name Colonel Walden. Amy writes this letter in January knowing that the secret Yalta Conference, between Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt was to take place February 4-11 near Yalta in Crimea which is in the Ukraine.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams to Sir Winston S. Churchill**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**19th of January 1945**

Dear "Colonel Walden",

How goes the day my friend? I haven't heard from you in quite a long while and though I know you're obviously one of the busiest men on the planet at the moment I thought you could do with a letter that's purely light hearted in nature.

First things first, I'm well. Safe and as happy as can be expected here in Manhattan. Rory came home for Christmas which was a wonderful and unexpected blessing. I told him I loved him, spent a few glorious days with him, fed him and then sent him back to the front. He spends endless bloody days and nights by the Rhine and I expect by March he'll be entering Germany.

Thank you for your help with Torchwood. I cannot express to you how much your attention in that matter helped my little family. One day I'll tell you about it, that is when I understand it all.

Rory and I are renewing our vows when the war ends. You should attend. How delightfully absurd would that be? You explaining to your staff that you have to fly to Manhattan for the wedding of two people they've never heard you mention. Rory and I explaining to our friends that we've known the Prime Minister this entire time but just never got around to mentioning it.

In any case we feel it's time to start a new life. When he gets home we're adopting a child and we're moving as far from the city as circumstance will allow. Lot's of big changes on the horizon, changes that I'm sincerely looking forward to.

I have to be so careful not to give you dates! I know you're scanning this line by line, word by word for something I may have accidentally included. But I'm clever, Churchill, the Doctor taught me that. You won't find a thing!

Take care of yourself, alright? I know about the heart attack in '41. I know about the pneumonia in '43. Just take a nap every now and then, have a bite of fruit or a glass of water, for crying out loud.

Yeah, I'm taking the piss because no one else has the balls to do it to you and because I care about you, mate, a great deal.

Well, I've got to run. Yeah, I'm telling the Prime Minister of Great Britain that I'm too busy to keep yammering on in a letter to him! But I do have to go. If you have a spare moment, (and I realize the notion of that is absurd) write back to your Paisley friend. If not, just know you're in my thoughts.

When this is all over Winston, you, me, Rory and Bracewell are going to get together, have some brandy and cigars, get absolutely pissed and tell really filthy stories. That gave you a chuckle, didn't it? But I mean it. I'd like to see you outside of a bunker one of these days.

If you, for some reason happen to see the Doctor and I mean  _any_  Doctor, it doesn't have to be mine, just tell him...Hello. That's all, any more I suppose might be too dangerous, so just say we said, Hello.

Best of luck, KBO and, oh dress warm, the Ukraine is cold this time of year.

Yours always,

Amy Pond-Williams


	101. Chapter 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept trying to write this from Bracey's point of view but it just didn't jive so I'm just doing Amy's response. There was a sudden and frightening fire at the Los Alamos facility and they were afraid for awhile it might light up the plutonium and I assume essentially destroy the whole state of New Mexico. Klaus Fuchs was a German physicist and atomic spy. As I've mentioned before overall conditions at Los Alamos were dismal and we're a mere five months from the dropping of the bomb on Nagasaki.

19th of February, 1945

My Dearest Bracey,

I'm happy to hear that Dorabella has finally joined you and that you're enjoying the paper I sent.. But I'm sorry to hear that's where your good news seems to end. May I be frank, your working conditions sound atrocious. The housing, the hours, the fire you mentioned all sound incredibly dangerous. How long after the evacuation were you able to return?

I hesitate to even say this and while I'm glad you've made friends, please, stay away from Fuchs. Give him a wide berth. Don't ask why. Just trust me.

I hear the worry and concern in your words, my friend. All I can tell you without delving into specifics is that soon this will all be over. I promise you that. And after that wonderful day, everyone will be coming home.

Let me take you on a dalliance, Bracey. Let's think about the future. What will you do when the war does end? Will you return to Chalk River? Will you stay in Los Alamos. Will you go back to England or perhaps all the way back home to Scotland? I envy you a little. _My_   world will never grow larger than Manhattan.

No. That's not true. Rory is my world and he is boundaryless.

Well, if you do leave, you can't go before standing at my wedding. Again, perhaps to give you something to look forward to, I was hoping you might give me away. Rory and I are going to renew our wedding vows as soon as he gets home. In addition to that, we're going to adopt!

We're planning the rest of our lives, Edwin. Please remember and take joy in the knowledge that you have to do the same.

Give my best to Dorabella. No matter how stressed or upset you get, remember to be kind to her. She loves you more than anything.

I miss you and I hope to see you very soon.

Love,

Your Amy


	102. Chapter 102

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few story notes, adoption was very common for wealthy families in Rome, sometimes families that had too many kids would sell a few and families that had no heirs would buy them. This mostly involved boys though a couple of girls were adopted too. Successful Roman soldiers were often given land as thanks for their service. Ummm, I think that's it. Allons-y

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

16th of April 1945

Dear Doctor,

I hadn't thought it possible, but my heart longs to see Rome again. Sometimes I find myself wishing I was involved in the Italian campaign so that I could visit, at least in some way, the place I called home for so many years. In truth I never liked the city. I returned there and lived there when duty called me to business. But if I wasn't on the battlefield I much preferred to stay on my farm. Yes, I had a farm. Well, more than a farm actually. By the time all was said and done I was graced with a  _latifundium_ , as estate that encompassed over several hundred acres. But I only used a small portion of it to grow spelt, along with a tiny vineyard and an olive orchard. Anymore would have required the use of slave labor and I refused to do that. I was given acres upon acres of land as thanks for my service and that land was passed down through my "family" for generation upon generation. I had a few cows, sheep, goats and horses. When I think of how disappointed my father was that I didn't carry a trowel all I can do is laugh. How completely shocked he would have been to see me tending to the soil, knowing the planting seasons and making the world around me flourish and grow?

As much as I could, I loved my home. I had a secure place to hide the Pandorica and I would spend my evenings in the fields, drinking my own wine, watching the sunset and talking to you and Amy as if you were right there next to me. I was alone but I wasn't lonely. I would curl up with memories beneath a tree that even then, by my estimates was several thousand years old. Older than you and I combined Doctor. But for awhile it was  _my_ tree, a strong, gnarled olive tree and I would sit beneath it and in that incredible silence I was safe.

I'm going to tell you something now Doctor that you must never tell Amy. Not because I think she would be angry but because I have laid enough of my sorrow at the doorstep of her heart, so let's just keep this between you and me, eh? I could say my mind has been on it recently as Amy and I write to one another about adoption but the truth is it's always close to my thoughts.

I had a son once. A strong and smart boy named Vitus. I'm not changing my story, I have never taken another woman to bed except for Amy and I never will.

A friend of mine, Parthus with whom I had fought along side during two wars had settled in his retirement in Rome. He sent word to me one day that he wanted to see me and reminisce and made the trek to the city to see him. His estate was as lavish and ornate as I recalled him being and the food and wine he provided for my visit was a bit ridiculous in its abundance. He introduced me to his family, his wife and children and as they exited I thought it would just be the two of us to rehash old battle scars. But he put his hand on the shoulder of his youngest son, Vitus, a quiet, towheaded boy who was all of four.

Fine boy isn't he?

Yes, Parthus, absolutely.

So...will you take him?

Beg pardon.

My friend, I have overestimated my wealth. I have daughters to provide for, three as a matter of fact each that must have a dowry and two sons after that, the first will inherit my estate and hopefully not my debt the second one will have his place in the senate but this one.

He touched Vitus' shoulder and the boy looked at him eyes wide and innocent. Clearly he had no idea what we were discussing and I was grateful for that. But still, I didn't want him to hear this no one should have to hear themselves being bartered over.

You're offering me your son?

It is a common enough practice.

Parthus, my life has no room in it for children.

Nonsense, it's long past time for you to settle down.

This is very unexpected...

And truly it was, I was at a loss for words. Adoption was common enough in Rome for status and such but I had never expressed interest, never wanted to ever be involved. But no mater what I wanted I never was able to quite achieve that quiet life.

What happens if I refuse?

Why should you refuse, you spend your days by yourself on your farm, you need company. And if you decline to take a wife, a son will serve you well. Who else will you pass all that land and title on to after you die?

But what happens to him if I say no? I pressed.

My friend shrugged.

Then he goes to the orphanage. Don't look at me like that you sentimental fool. What would you have me do? I cannot take care of him.

I caught Vitus eyes and he immediately brightened before smiling at me. I couldn't help but smile back.

If you're having problems with money-

This isn't about money!

Of course I knew it was precisely about that. But he cut me off and I saw I had come dangerously close to offending him. Perhaps dangerous is the improper word. I held a higher status in society than he, there was nothing he could do in fact to cause me any discomfort or harm. If I wished, I could stand from this table, thank him for the meal and walk away.

But then what of Vitus? I knew what the orphanages were like, disgusting, cold, bereft of comfort or joy. It was a crime to send children there. I had only met this boy briefly, only seen him playing outside with his siblings as I entered but I just couldn't...I couldn't let this happen.

And so...I made a decision.

I will take him.

We left within the hour. He said goodbye to his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, I placed his little bag on my shoulder and we set off. I paid his father handsomely, first as a tribute to Vitus, then out of respect for our friendship which, after this, had ended. I understood tradition but I couldn't bear to associate with someone who would sell their own child. I bid him farewell for a final time and Vitus and I began our trek back to my farm. My mind was racing now...what had I done? What would I do with a small child? What if I was called away again for battle? Who would care for him? Wasn't my first duty to Amy?

Are you my Papa now?

His voice was small and soft and I chastised myself for having walked so far with him in silence.

Yes, Vitus, I suppose I am.

He seemed to consider that before nodding and reaching up for my hand. I took his smaller one in my own and gave it a light squeeze.

I promise you, I will take care of you, little one. On my honor you will always be safe.

He smiled at me and we walked on in silence. The sun was setting and it lit up the fields in front of us transforming the waving wheat into an unearthly sort of beauty. As the darkness grew around us I gathered him into my arms and eventually he fell asleep upon my shoulder. I didn't have a bed for him so I just bundled him next to me.

I'm not a natural father, Doctor. I'm awkward and clumsy and I had so many things to learn. I was awakened in the night by him crying softly next to me. Of course he was upset, of course he was sad, his entire life was in upheaval. I felt terrible. I held him as he cried and did my best to comfort him but over the next few days he lapsed into silence. I tried to make conversation as we ate, I took him around the farm, we visited and petted the animals but he wouldn't speak. This went on for weeks. He was so little and yet I was the one who felt helpless. I built him a bed and he handed me tools. He set the table for supper. I sang him songs and made up a few games for us to play. And though I saw his walls slowly begin to drop as the weeks went into months he still refused to speak. I never stopped encouraging him, never stopped trying to engage him but eventually even I became use to the silence. Though I'd built him a bed he would still usually crawl into mine, sometimes propelled by a nightmare that he wouldn't explain, sometimes just because I imagined he was lonely and frightened and...four. I told him stories, I took him to the ancient tree, I told him jokes and I carried him about on my shoulders. I just wanted to let him know I wasn't going anywhere, that I wouldn't sell him and that I would be his father, if he'd have me.

The day he actually smiled I felt my heart sing. The day he laughed I laughed heartily along with him. The day he finally spoke after a full three months of silence I felt as though I could conquer the world.

I like it here, Papa. He said softly.

I was stunned but I knew I had to answer him immediately.

Do you? I'm glad, I like it here too and I love having you here with me...son.

Can we go milk my cow now?

Of course we can.

From then on there was a new normal. I had a son and as he grew we grew to know each other. He was quiet, smart, impossibly clever and dryly funny. And after awhile I began to forget that he wasn't properly mine and I think he began to forget too.

Papa, what is that box in the barn?

I had expected this day of course. Every time we went into to tend the animals he looked at it but it had taken him three years to work up the courage to ask me.

That box is my ward, just as you are my ward. I care and love you both with all my heart.

What is inside?

Something very precious.

It didn't take me long at all to love him and I did so fiercely and completely and after he'd gone to bed I spent many an evening talking to Amy, telling him what we'd done during the day, what Vitus had learned and what we had planned for tomorrow. I was happy, Doctor. If you can believe it, I was happy.

The years passed and he aged as I did not. I struggled with what to tell him. I honestly didn't have any idea. It had never come up before. Before, I could always disappear, or fabricate some sort of lie but I couldn't disappear from my son and I wouldn't lie to him. We rarely ventured to the city but as he grew people began to assume we were brothers.

The winter that he turned sixteen he broached the subject.

Papa, forgive me...but you look the same.

I played dumb, knowing the moment had arrived and still without the answer he deserved.

The same?

Your face is unlined, your eyes undimmed. I have never seen one battle scar on your skin.

I could see him struggling, I had raised him without the superstitions of the gods so he was unlikely to proclaim me a deity of some sort.

Vitus, what I am, I can't exactly explain. But...I will never age. I will never grow old even though I am so very, very old. But all that matters is that I love you, more than anything I love you, my son.

He nodded as he always did, as he always had, digesting what I told him, ready to accept or reject. Ultimately he chose to accept it.

I love you too, Papa.

I sent him to school but took care of most of his education at home. I did my best not to besmirch Rome even though I loved our quiet life here. I made sure to tell him that as my son he was due a certain amount of honor and respect. He had a degree of status and a substantial amount of money available to him. If he wanted a life in the city, one of influence and wealth and power it was his.

But he always shrugged off the notion.

My life is here, Papa. The city holds no interest for me. This is my home, here with you.

I think something holds some interest for you. I teased him. When we were last at market you couldn't keep your eyes off Maletus' daughter.

He blushed and I knew I'd been right. He seemed so young, too young in my opinion to be thinking of marriage but this was a different time, certainly different from the time I grew up in. I asked him to wait before he made any rash decision and he listened for awhile, for as long as he could.

But sooner rather than later he took Cordelia, Maletus' daughter, a wonderful spirited girl for his wife and we all lived and worked on the farm together. The summer after they wed I had a granddaughter and not long after that a grandson. Rome spread and sprawled and our nearest neighbor was someone we might not see for years at a time. I felt safe with all of us living there, our secrets shielded in that easy pastoral bliss.

My lack of aging didn't disturb Cordelia, she was from the country and had never even been to Rome proper. As such she had no qualms about telling me she assumed I was one of the faerie folk. Neither god nor mortal but something decidedly in between. To her that explained everything and Vitus and I were content to let her believe as she wished.

On our trips to the city things changed again, they began to think he was my older brother, seasons passed and then they assumed he was my father. Vitus handled this with aplomb, cool and collected when he called me Pater or Patris or Abba in public people assumed it was a silly joke between us.

I was called again to war when he was in his forties, a life I had made certain to keep him as far away from as possible. It was a lengthy campaign and by the time I returned I had three more grand children and my son was nearing his mid fifties.

I had made certain to keep his name on the lips of those in senate, he was after all the son of a war hero, he had status and a seat waiting for him in the senate if he chose.

I sat with him one evening, a grandchild on each knee, beneath our tree watching the sunset as his older sons and daughters laughed and played in the fields.

Rome is alway waiting for you, you know. I feel guilty, keeping you out here isolated in the country. You have a name and a fortune there. You need but grasp it.

Rome has waited, father and will continue to do so. This is my home, with you and 'Lia. I never wanted to be a politician.

He stretched out and closed his eyes and I tried not to notice the lines on his face and about his eyes.

As if he could read my thoughts he spoke to me.

You have to promise me, father, promise me you won't travel alone after I'm gone.

How those words echo about us, Doctor, you and I. Do you see now? Do you see why I could be so adamant, so forceful almost to the point of being rude with you? Because I have done it. I have lived it, a thousand times before. When you were crawling about on Gallifrey in nappies I had already lost so much. Please, my love, hear me, learn from me.

I didn't say anything to my son at that moment, I couldn't.

Father? He said, opening his eyes.

Please don't talk like that.

He chuckled.

A warning about pragmatism from the man who taught me the meaning of the word. I'm going to die one day and you told me when I was small about all those years you spent travelling alone. You mustn't do that again. Promise me.

I can't promise you that and I don't want to talk about your death. I can't bear it.

He nodded and took a small sleeping boy from my lap.

Then just promise me this. That you'll scatter my ashes here, under our tree, so that I'll always be home.

I tried to choke back tears but they came anyway and I turned my face away from him at the same time dragging him close.

I promise.

The woman in the box...

I sniffled and blinked in surprise but didn't pull out of my embrace with him.

How did you know it was a woman?

He only smiled at me and continued.

The woman in the box, was she...my mother?

I swallowed and I imagined Amy rocking him to sleep, running with him, whooping and laughing at dusk, weeping at his wedding. Memories that never were and never would be.

What do you remember from when you were little?

He turned to me and met my eyes and I saw he had made his choice long ago. We all choose what to remember and what to forget.

I remember you, Papa, only you.

I paused for a moment and then decided to answer him.

In a way, yes, she would have been. Yes, I think so. She is my wife so she would have been your mother.

That's why you never took a wife. You were always already married. He said softly. Vitus nodded, satisfied as always. How he pieced my stories together in his head I never knew but he never seemed troubled. It was always enough and more than that, it was always a comfort.

I don't...I can't say anymore about that. We lived together for many years following that conversation but when I think of my son I always think back to that evening. The rosy hue of the sun as it bathed us both in soft light, the feeling of my grandson and granddaughter sleeping against me, Vitus in my arms.

I kept my word. When he died the seven of us, 'Lia, myself, Benedict, Atticus, Coryn, Felix, and Jovan. 'Lia and I sang a song, his oldest son gave the _laudatio funebris_. And finally I set his body atop the pyre and lit it ablaze.

I can't say any more about that.

I mourned my son for years and in my dreams he was always that little boy who's walked with me hand in hand back to his new home, through fields of wheat taller than he was. He was my brave little boy.

I took care of Cordelia, tending to my elderly daughter in law, keeping her comfortable and entertained. She loved to hear stories about Vitus and about my travels over the years.

Do the faerie folk ever die, Papa?

I don't know 'Lia. I imagine eventually we all die. But we have lived, that's what's important. You and I...and Vitus have all lived and lived well.

That answer seemed to satisfy her and I sat at her bedside and held her hand as she slipped from this world into whatever lies beyond.

I loved her too and she rests next to my son beneath that olive tree.

It was about this time that I supposed I realized it might be best if I moved on. Best for my grandchildren and great grandchildren and best for myself. I loved them dearly. I loved them in a way that it almost frightens me to love again. But they were smart and strong and capable. I had told them as best I could that nothing lasts, they must prepare for the end of all things, even the end of this way of life.

Remember children, Rome will fall. Perhaps not in your life or your children's lives or their children's lives but it will fall. Everything is transitory and you must prepare and guard and keep a weather eye. They would nod and listen

The decision to leave came upon me gradually. When it was just us, a small family subsisting on our own, not on anyone's radar, things were fine. But the grandchildren were growing, some already in adulthood, they would marry and our family would expand there would be questions and more questions and my being there only made life harder. It was time for Amy and I to leave them to their future even though it would break my heart. On the evening of my grandsons wedding I took him aside, trying to impart what little wisdom I had collected.

Hold to the farm as long as you can but listen to me, should you lose it, you lose it. Family is what is important. You brothers, your sisters, your wife and the children to come.

And you, Avus. You're important.

He paused before continuing.

You're leaving us, aren't you?

He looked so much like Vitus in that moment and I couldn't lie to him. To anyone watching he probably looked like my sibling.

I am.

Papa told me you would some day.

Your father was very smart and so are you.

Do you think you'll ever come back?

Leaning forward I kissed his forehead in blessing and benediction. I didn't have the heart to speak the word no.

He pressed his lips together tightly and I saw the tears start to well.

You will be fine. The farm and land belongs to you and you brothers and sisters, I trust you to parcel it out as you see fit. There is money enough for you all to live happily for generation upon generation to come. Be good to each other and remember how much your parents loved you.

We will remember you too Avus, always.

He threw his arms around me and I hugged him tightly knowing it would be the last time.

I spent the evening writing each of them letters, reminding them of their strengths gently chiding them about some of their weaknesses and encouraging them all to be the best I knew they could be. Most importantly I told them how much I loved them all. How it had made my life a full one to see them born, to watch them grow and how I would carry them with me in my heart for now and for always. And I have. When I close my eyes I can still see each and everyone of their faces.

Once when Amy and I visited the British Museum I saw one of my letters.  **Ancient Roman Correspondence: A Letter of Advice Written from a Father to a Daughter.** Ok so they had gotten it a bit wrong but that was alright. God knows where it had been unearthed but there it was, my handwriting and as I started to reread it through that glass I suddenly burst into tears. Amy put her arm around me and lovingly hustled us off to the loo. She walked right into the gents with me! You know Amy. She could tell I didn't want to talk about it and I couldn't, I just... _couldn't_.

Before I left the farm I paid a last visit to the tree as I said farewell to my son. I don't have to recount that for you, do I, Doctor? You've bid farewell to lost children. You know the words. You know the ache. You the tears.

I parted from them at dawn, and as they slept I pulled the Pandorica behind me heading towards the rising sun.

I never went back though I did keep tabs on them all. They lived and they flourished there for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Eventually the spread out and dispersed and it became harder and harder to find out what happened, where they went, where they settled. But every so often, defying logic, genetics and common sense I would see a face in a crowd, an impossible face, 900 AD France, 1548 in Germany, 1880 Britain and I would know. I would just know that was my kin. I would know that some how if you traced back the line would end with Vitus and me.

All this comes up I suppose as I recall pleasant memories to stave off the loneliness of the war as it far too slowly winds down.

I miss my babies, Doctor, Vitus, my grandchildren, Adora, even Melody. My grip on her is never as strong as I would like it to be.

I suppose that's all for now. I miss you my friend. Thank you for letting me blather on as I do.

If you do a search on the internet for the worlds oldest trees it brings up a particular wild olive tree just outside of Rome on a field where an ancient farm lies in ruins. It's gnarled and is estimated to be nearly 4000 years old, it's roots run deep and they say if you touch it you can feel the hum of the universe. It has seen things you and I couldn't even imagine.

It grows and it flowers and it stands.

It still stands.

I love you, Doctor,

Love, Rory

 


	103. Chapter 103

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

28th of May 1945

My Melody,

Happy Birthday, my dearest little girl.

I hope you didn't think I'd forget. How could I ever forget you?

I'd been thinking recently how I never told you about what happened before we met you in Utah. Maybe you might like to know.

A little before we left for America is the first time I thought I might be pregnant. I'd been feeling pretty run down for some time and while your Dad and I weren't trying to conceive we knew even with protection it was a possibility. I was going to tell him actually right before we got the Doctors letter in the post. We'd just come back from the shop and I'd slipped a pregnancy test in with everything and then slipped it in my pocket after we paid for it before he noticed. I don't have to tell you why. You grew up with Rory same as I did, you know how bad he wanted kids. I didn't want to get his hopes up and then dash them. I wanted to be sure.

But then that little blue envelope arrived and the next thing I knew we were on a plane to the States. I was so happy to see you there! Not just because I missed you, which I did but because finally I thought I'd have someone to talk to about all this. Unsurprisingly, my first choice was Mels. When I needed good, solid, pragmatic advice I always went to Mels. You remember. But Mels was far away and even when she wasn't... she... _you_ were hard to get a hold of. So I figured if Mels Zucker was unavailable, River Song was the next best solution.

I didn't really need advice per se, there was no question about keeping the baby if there was one. Sure it was early. Sure we had both planned on being more settled, more stable, more grown up and definitely more weaned off the Doctor before we started a family. But life with the Doctor had taught us how unpredictable all those things were. No, I just wanted to talk to another woman about it, what I was thinking, what was on my mind, how excited and worried and thrilled and scared I was.

I tried to get you alone a few times, as we drove in the Doctor's car, at the diner and even as we were setting up for the picnic while the boys talked quietly by the water. But it just never quite happened. In fact, if I remember you were quite evasive at the picnic, even to the point where I worried maybe I was overstepping my boundaries. Now of course it all makes sense. It must have been a bit hard for you, dear. Knowing what was coming, not being able to say anything.

And then...the Doctor died and I couldn't think about anything beyond that. I didn't want to and the pregnancy test I had shoved in my pocket was forgotten. Well you remember the rest...the Doctor ended up being the first person I told. He was the first person I spoke the words aloud to. Doctor...I'm pregnant.

He was also the first person I told I wasn't. I'd gotten a chance right after all the excitement, while the Doctor was saying his goodbyes to you when Rory finally let me out of his sight long enough to clean up a bit. I took the test, waited and what do you know, not pregnant. I was worried about telling Rory for another reason. I told the Doctor it was because we'd been travelling together for so long and what if the baby had a Timehead. Oh how he'd laughed. Yeah, how silly, huh, Doctor? Travelling in the vortex had absolutely no effect on the baby. Insert sarcasm here. He's a right smug arse, isn't he? Of course you know that all too well.

But another reason was...well the Doctor and I had been travelling together for so long... _alone_. I knew the thoughts that ran through Rory's mind every now and then. Had we...? What if the baby was the Doctor's?

There was no way that was possible. I wouldn't have cheated on Rory, not then, not ever. I just want you to know that about your old mum. I'm flighty and hard to handle...but I'm honest, love. And even when I was confused and angry and running, I still loved your Dad more than I lusted after the Doctor. Of course...it wasn't just lust...but I think I'll leave that there for the time being.

And anyways, even if I'd wanted to, the Doctor never let me get close enough after that kiss in my bedroom. No, the first time we were all together was on Christmas and that was done with my husbands full consent and participation.

After I eased Rory's fears we went to bed and lay there talking for awhile.

What were you hoping for? He asked.

I paused for a second as I thought of how to say it.

I honestly didn't know...until I looked at that stick and saw the negative sign.

And? He asked. I could hear him holding his breath.

And my heart broke a bit.

Your Dad gathered me into his arms and I started to cry tears I didn't even know I'd been holding back. I think it was at that moment that I knew, if I had to, I could give up the TARDIS. Not the Doctor, mind you, never the Doctor, but I could leave the travelling behind. Rory and I, though the tears started talking about what our life would be like. He and I and a baby, the Doctor dropping by on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon, all of us reminiscing, laughing as he tried to change a nappy. That could be life, it could be our life and it could be a good one.

Your Dad kissed my temple and asked me softly.

Do you want to try?

I don't know. I said honestly.

I don't know either but...I'm glad you wanted it, I'm glad you want to have a family with me.

Of course I do, Rory. And we will. When our I-don't-know's are Yes's then we will.

He nodded and we left it there, little did we know you were well on your way.

The longest I ever got to hold you was right after you were born. The second we were separated, the second you left my body they spirited you away. I spent the first few minutes after I woke up screaming for Rory, still not understanding how everything I remembered happening was a lie. I spent the next thirteen hours just plain screaming, off and on until my voice finally gave out. Then you were out and they took you away from me and  _you_ started screaming. At first I was relieved because it meant, no matter what, you were ok. But then it didn't stop and it kept getting more hoarse, and panicked and frightened. I started reaching for you, all that exhaustion I had felt only moments before just left me and I started to calling, crying demanding they bring you to me. Finally out of more frustration than mercy they brought you over. I opened my arms and they placed the most beautiful, perfect, precious little creature I had ever seen into them. And all that crying stopped. You looked at me and I looked at you and I smiled. You were perfect, every single part of you, you little toes and fingers, your belly, your nose, those little sparse wisps of hair.

Happy Birthday, my love, you look just like your Dad.

Those were the first words I said to you.

They let me hold you all while they patched me up and gave me a blood transfusion and ran all sorts of test on us both. I didn't care, I never broke eye contact with you. I nursed you and I named you Melody and I told you that no matter what, no matter where they took you or what they did to you, my brave wonderful little girl, your Mummy and Daddy would love you. Always and forever and they would never, ever stop looking for you. You fell asleep at my breast and I fell asleep with you in my arms. That was out first birthday together and that was one of the few times the real me got to hold the real you.

I was 21 years old then so that was 19 years ago, for me at least. I'm not sure how many years for you, I admit I don't really know how it works with regenerations and all. I get sentimental around your birthday. I think of all the parties your Dad and I would have planned for you, the presents, the pictures we would have taken. Watching you shove your fist into the cake at one. Seeing your excitement at the balloons and streamers at five. Watching you roll your eyes and pretend to be embarrassed by us at thirteen...I miss those years...I spent so much time crying over those lost years. But I comfort myself knowing that I did get to spend every birthday with you, from seven on up and we had wonderful times didn't we? Remember when the Zuckers rented that pony for your eleventh birthday and you and I rode it all the way to town? Your parents were furious and so was Aunt Sharon. Rory was just upset that we hadn't taken him along. Then remember when we were fifteen and we got those guys to take us to that University party? God we were awful and stupid. That was so dangerous! But we had a lot of fun didn't we? You would have terrorized me and your Dad as a teenager wouldn't you? I can just imagine trailing you all around London in the wee hours of the morning not knowing if we were going to throttle you or hug you to death once we found you.

The years we lost. The years we gained. I can't be greedy can I? My life with you and Rory and the Doctor has always had a certain balance to it, things usually even out in the strangest of ways. I lost my baby girl but I have her back. I love you, Melody. Your Dad and I love you very, very much. When Rory comes home you have to come visit and we'll celebrate properly. No time limits. No restrictions. Just the family.

Have a wonderful birthday, love, wherever you are and whatever you're doing and remember you can always drop by here because you are always, always welcome. While I can't imagine what you're up to at the moment I know what I hope. I hope you're happy and safe and protected. I hope maybe you're with the Doctor and he's taken you somewhere wonderful. (Heaven help that son-in-law of mine if he forgot!). And I hope you feel the love your Dad and I have for you radiating across time. You'll always be our baby, our wonderful surprise.

Happy birthday, my love.

Love,

Mum

 


	104. April 21, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

21st of April, 1945

My Dearest Amy,

Nuremberg is ours. At 11:00 the Germans surrendered and soon after we hoisted the American flag above the city. 7000 Axis troops against 45,000 Allied and they still held us off for six days. It was like Cherbourg all over again. Fighting in the streets, moving from house to house, tromping through peoples bedrooms and kitchens, breaking windows to fire out. In January the RAF boys nearly bombed this city off the planet. Most of it was in ruins before we arrived and we certainly haven't made it any better. We're on the move now, my men and I are headed towards Austria and there is a decided change in the air. I try to keep them calm and focused, now isn't the time to get sloppy or stupid but they can feel it...it's almost over, Amy. The war is almost over. We pass by whole towns waving white flags, and we've had several hundred German soldiers surrender to us, sometimes whole units.

I'm sorry this letter is so short but at the pace we're moving I can't stop and write as I wish to.

We'll be well into Austria in seven days and ten days later Germany will surrender. And after that, Amy, I'm coming home. According to the Point System...well, with one point for every month of service, one point for every month served overseas and five points for every combat award combined with being an officer...I figure that should be enough to send me back to you on one of the first transports available. I think I told you May 15 but I may have jumped the gun just a bit. I'm thinking more like May 22, still a Tuesday, my love. Thirty seven days, Amy. Thirty seven days until I'm back in your arms.

I love you, Amy.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

See you in five Tuesdays.

Love,

Rory


	105. April 22, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22, of April 1945

Dear Rory,

As much as I want to shout at you, Don't jinx it, stupid face! I've already been marking off the days on the calendar. I've been tracking your progress as best I can online and as far as I can tell your estimates are correct except you're wrong about your destination. You're not headed to Austria, you're on your way to Augsburg and then Munich. When the war ends you'll be just about near Salzburg.

As the days get closer and closer I get more and more nervous. I swear even Spartacus seems to know something is coming. Just for distraction and to calm my nerves I decided to finally make my bridal appointment. It was wonderful! It's just like in the movies, they actually had women come out and model the gowns for me! I chose- Nope, never mind I don't want to spoil it for you. You'll see what I chose when you get home. I'll just say this, I never quite imagined wearing a dress with sleeves!

Just as I was sitting on the soft little sofa, sipping champagne (yes, they gave me champagne!) wishing someone was there sharing it with me Melody appeared.

Hope you don't mind, Mum. I was in the neighborhood.

I threw my arms around her and once I'd introduced the consultant to my 'sister' the appointment continued.

I keep getting older and you keep staying the same! I said giving her a playful elbow to the ribs. One of these days they'll know I'm your mum and then after that they'll think I'm your gran.

She laughed but I could tell that again she didn't like to talk about us aging. So like the Doctor. Maybe...maybe it's time, Rory, that we stop letting her see the damage, as well.

I guess we never really think about what it's like for her. She lives her life, she gallivants around with the Doctor. He doesn't age and true to her word she's clearly been taking hers down a few years every now and then. then she comes back to us. And we have a few more wrinkles around the eyes, a-... Ok, now isn't the time to be maudlin.

Anyways, we went out to lunch afterwards.

You'll come to the ceremony of course, right? And I don't want to hear any of this nonsense about you not doing weddings.

Wouldn't miss it for the world. Thank you for the birthday letter by the way.

You're my baby. I said with a smile. So, what did the Doctor do for you on your special day?

Oh...it was nice.

I narrowed my eyes completely unconvinced.

Out with it.

Melody sighed and poked at her food.

It really was wonderful. But he was distracted, frenetic but somehow distant. For all my bravado I sometimes worry he's tiring of me. Pulling away.

Nonsense. I said immediately.

You have to say that, you're my mother.

I'm your mother but I also know him very well. He loves you, you're his wife and believe me, he never seemed like the marrying type so this must be the real deal.

He was married before, you know that. She said with a shrug.

Yeah like a thousand years ago when he was a kid. Or what passes as a kid for a Time Lord. He's more mature now...I can't believe I just called the Doctor mature, but there we are. He waited, what, eight hundred years before taking the plunge again? And as loathe as I am to stroke his ego I can imagine it wasn't for want of offers. He married you because he loves you and because he wanted to have a wife and a marriage, unconventional though they may be.

I paused for a second before continuing.

Is it Clara?

She looked up at me her lips parted in surprise.

How dd you-

But I waved it away and motioned for her to continue.

Well...yes, it's Clara. She's young and lovely and clever...and young.

You already said that. Not to mention, you're nineteen.

She sniggered and went on.

The Doctor has an eye for the ladies no matter his claims otherwise. But it's not just looks, he loves a mystery. He falls in love with mysteries. Don't you know that, Impossible Amelia?

I took Melody's hand and squeezed it.

What I know is that he loves you more than anything and if he's distracted then there's a reason but it's not because someone else caught his eye.

There is another possibility...

What's that?

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again.

I'd rather not say. It's just...sometimes, no matter how much he hates endings, The Doctor has glimpsed the last page. Whether he wanted to or not.

What does that mean? I pressed.

But she wouldn't say anymore. She's got me worried, Rory. And I don't just mean in a regular spoilers sort of way. But no matter how I tried she wouldn't give me a straight answer.

I suppose the good news is we can sort it out as a family when you get home, which will be soon. So incredibly soon I can hardly stand it.

I miss you, baby. I love you.

See you on Tuesday.

Love,

Amy


	106. April 27, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of April 1945

Dear Doctor,

We crossed the Rhine over a month ago now and have been working our way across Western Germany. It's slow, bloody going but we advance far more often than we fall back. There are things I've left out of my letter to Amy, things I've left out of my journal because I don't want to remember them. I saw incidents I haven't witnessed since the Great Famine of 1315. Then I saw emaciation, mass starvation, people literally dropping dead in front of me. The roads I traveled with the Pandorica littered with bodies. Disease, murder, even cannibalism. But that was for all intents and purposes a natural disaster, well, as  _natural_  as disasters can be. But this is unnatural. Horrible. Too horrible even for words and certainly far too horrible for the words of an inarticulate soldier.

By avoiding Austria we avoid Mauthausen-Gusen. But in Munich, Dachau awaits us. There, soldiers will have arrived before us, liberated the victims and survivors, more than likely put the guards to work in their place if not executed them on sight.

I have had enough of death, Doctor, and yet, as an old Roman, my soul cries out for a brutal and swift justice and judgement. No trial. No mercy. No quarter. Let this all end. Let all those who wore the swastika find the sharp end of a blade, the dull fury of a bullet.

Hundreds of years ago I saw people, the ones I couldn't save, the ones I as Abbe Wilhelm couldn't arrange to be smuggled from the country burned alive on stakes set upon grassy hilltops. Their screams of innocence or curses carried away on the breeze.

Before Constantine abolished the practice in 337, I saw hundreds upon hundreds of men crucified. I walked past their bodies as they rotted and the vultures picked at their eyes.

I witnessed the gleeful support of the the Crusades in Europe as the tales of the murderers and the murdered drifted back to our ears.

I saw the poor, abandoned in the streets and the wealthy run for the countryside as the Black Death closed in around London.

I have seen the blackness of the human heart. I have seen what we do when we are left to our own devices.

I can't help but wonder, why do you love us, Doctor? Humans, I mean. Perhaps I'm just in a bitter, angry mood but I'm tired. I sometimes think all those times that I know about and the thousands of times that I don't that you stood in for us, that you stepped up and said; Not this day...I sometimes think maybe you shouldn't have bothered. I have lived far too long to delude myself with the idea that humans get better, wiser, smarter, that they grow or learn. We don't, we're still proto-creatures, hurling rocks at the sun and bludgeoning anyone we come across.

Why do you do it? Why us? Why not just let us or some other life form wipe us from this planet. Let us burn in some sort of grand celestial fire. Let there be a reaping...

I think I'm forgetting, Doctor, I'm forgetting some of the magic and wonder you showed us. I'm forgetting how big the universe is. I'm forgetting that there is love and beauty and grace...and I never forget anything.

I want to come home, Doctor.

I know, I  _believe_  that soon I'll be home. But...I suppose today was just a bad day and the following will probably be worse.

Remember when you took us to Aridius? And we all went out into the night and laid in the grass and stared up at all those stars.

"All that, Ponds...all of that, my loves, that's what we have left to explore." You raised your finger and pointed at some distant body. "What...about...THAT one?"

We laughed, you always made us laugh. And we agreed. We always agreed didn't we?

I miss the magic you brought to us, Doctor.

Christ, I think I just miss my wife. These will more than likely be the final days that I ever tread upon European soil in my life time. I have said my goodbyes. This is no longer home. Amy is home. Melody is home. The TARDIS was home. You were home.

I want to come home.

I miss and love you.

Thank you, as always, for listening.

-Rory


	107. May 7th 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trinity is the first and only official test of the nuclear bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The pre-test occurred May 7, 1945 with the real test to follow on in the New Mexico desert Jornada del Muerto or "single day's journey of the dead man" on July 16th 1945. Oh my goodness guys, if today is May 7th, do you know what tomorrow is?

7th of May, 1945

My Dear Amy,

Again, I apologize for my absence. I have been so busy and so distracted as of late that the task of writing seems almost too overwhelming. Not that you are ever a task or a burden, my dear. I simply haven't figured out the proper way to separate my work from the rest of my life...what little remains. It disturbs Dorabella as well and I fear I haven't been a very good husband as of late. She misses the stability of Chalk River and her heart longs for Scotland. Or perhaps she would simply rather be anywhere but here.

I can't say that I blame her.

It is difficult to believe that it's been nearly a month since President Roosevelt died. I suppose we should take comfort in knowing that he was certain the end was in sight. Pity he didn't live to see the final act. But he isn't alone. So many went slogging before him. So  _many_... And with even more yet to follow behind him.

My dearest Amy, I would be proud to give you away. What an honor and certainly one I never dared dream of. If you'll pardon the liberty, I often have flattered myself and thought if I had been able to have children you are exactly the sort of daughter I would have wanted. A fine, lovely, spirited Paisley girl, fearless, independent, kind, wise, clever and so incredibly brave.

I am so very glad the Doctor brought you into my life, Amelia Pond-Williams.

I've been thinking about him a great deal lately. Wondering what he might say to me how or  _if_ he would counsel me. Would he be angry or simply disappointed? Would he still consider me a friend? I wish he were here now. I'm sure you do as well.

The pre-test for Trinity was conducted today. It went off smashingly well if you'll pardon the pun.

Little stops us now.

Little could.

Take care, Amy.

Yours,

Bracey


	108. May 8th, 1945 V-E Day (Amy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V-E Day, May 8th, 1945, otherwise known as Victory In Europe Day. Italy had already surrendered, now Germany, all that remained was Japan. As the news was announced people flooded the streets in London, Paris, New York, Chicago, Miami etc. etc. The war was winding down with an Allied victory seeming almost assured. It would still be another two months until Japan's unequivocal surrender and the cessation of every WW2 theater of war.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of May, 1945

Dear Doctor,

At a little past 8 AM I heard a gunshot. And then another and another and then great whoops of laughter and excitement. I will find it endlessly funny and strange that the report of a weapon would signal the _end_ of a battle.

Sunny came knocking on the door about fifteen minutes later, frantically calling my name.

I affected a look of sleepy exhaustion, which wasn't far from the truth, I had been up all night and felt nearly dead on my feet. My eyes were tired from reading.

Amy! AMY! Amy for God sake open up!

I opened the my door and peered at her

Have you heard? She asked. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her eyes were red but shinning with a sort of tragic happiness I'll never be able to describe on paper.

Amy, it's over.

Now, of course I knew. Of course I'd heard. Of course I'd spent the entire night poring over firsthand and secondhand accounts of the celebrations. Of people waking to the news that Germany had surrendered. I had already hastily dashed off my Women on the Home Front reaction article that I knew my editor would be asking for. I had known and waited for this moment for longer than I'd ever waited for anything in my life. Of course I knew but I didn't want to rob her of the moment of telling me.

What's going on, what happened? I reached out to touch her cheek. Are you alright?

The news just came across the wire. Germany surrendered! The war is over!

And somehow, Doctor, even though I knew, even though I'd been reading about this date over and over, hearing someone say it out loud made it all the more real.

It's over? I asked in a small voice. I needed to have her repeat it. I needed to hear it repeated somewhere outside my own head.

It's over, Amy. They're all going to be coming home.

She drew me into a tight embrace and I held her just as close in return.

Rory will be coming home. She said softly.

Rory will be coming home. I repeated after her, scarcely believing it now that the moment had arrived. I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me.

Poor thing, I must have scared you half to death. I was just so excited I had to rush over. Come on, let me make you a cup of tea.

On unsteady legs I followed her into my kitchen and watched her put the kettle on.

I'm not sure when I started crying. But in a second she was at my side embracing me again and I was clinging to her as if for dear life. I thought back to that moment, over a year ago when I'd heard something shatter and rushed to the kitchen to find her crying and Rory holding her tightly. I thought that would be me some day, crying over the death of my husband.

I'm sorry, Sunny. I'm sorry to cry when you've lost-

Nonsense, how could I take offense. Of course I miss him. Everyday. But missing him doesn't mean I ever wanted anything but a safe return home for Rory and that's just what's going to happen.

The tea kettle began to whistle and she gave me a teary smile before moving to take it off the heat.

We'll have some tea and cookies and we'll listen to the radio.

So we did.

We sat in the kitchen and we listened to President Truman address the country and the world and announce that the surrender of Germany was official.

He talked about how the victory was tempered with the sober understanding of how many lives were lost in the process. He declared today a national day of prayer and he said something that sounded so important to me. So scary but so important.

 _The job ahead is no less important, no less urgent, no less difficult than the task which now_   _happily is done._

No less important. No less urgent. No less difficult.

Somehow it reminded me of life with you, Doctor. After we'd finished one adventure before we had time to break much less rest on our laurels the phone was ringing again or the TARDIS was taking us somewhere glaringly off course. It was never finished. And what we had to do was no less important than what we had done.

A bigger adventure. There's always a bigger adventure just round the corner isn't there?

Even Michael is excited. Sunny began. If you can believe it. I can't tell you when I last saw him smile. I wonder what happens now. What sort of world has all this made?

A better one. A worse one. One that isn't much different than it was the day before.

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

Amy Williams, philosopher.

Something like that. I said with a laugh. Hey, what say we go to Times Square?

Times Square? Whatever for?

For the celebration.

You think they'll be one?

I couldn't help but smile to myself. Oh I think one or two folks will show up.

I dressed quickly and we went to Sunny's flat to get the children ready. On the walk over you could already tell the difference. People were smiling and laughing, drinking, a sailor grabbed me about the waist and spun me around. We did a bit of a dance right there in the middle of the street. He laughed. I laughed and then he took off his hat, bowed and walked away disappearing into the crowd. Another man thrust a mug of beer in Sunny's face and she took a big gulp of it enthusiastically much to the delight of everyone around us. She and I grabbed hands and took off at a run, giggling the whole way to her apartment.

The kids were of course already up, playing with the toy swords from two Christmases ago, deeply engrossed in a game of war and surrender. Michael greeted me with a grin and a kiss on the cheek. Not long after that we set out again, happy to get lost in the throng.

All around us people were shouting and cheering and crying. I saw people flooding in and out of churches and bars. The closer we got to Times Square the thicker the crowd became and we held on tightly to the kids so they didn't get lost or frightened.

People were hugging, kissing and crying. Oh Doctor, there were so many tears. I grabbed a newspaper with the words GERMANY SURRENDERS in enormous print and tucked it into my purse to show to Rory later on.

We broke into spontaneous songs, Happy Days Are Here Again and Remember Pearl Harbor and The White Cliffs Of Dover and When The Lights Go On Again. We sang so loudly and so long that as dusk began to grow around us I was nearly hoarse. Men had climbed lightpoles and were hanging from them and laughing drunkenly. There was a giant to scale version of the Statue of Liberty looking down on us playing hostess to all the activity. Everyone, everywhere was of the same mind tonight. it was over. We were all almost out of the dark. There was a future coming and for once we could all dare to look at it and not be quite so frightened anymore.

I've never seen anything like this in my life! Sunny marveled and I agreed.

By evening the constant toning of bells had stopped, Broadway was lit up again for the first time in years and a giant spotlight was sweeping back and forth over the crowd. Mayor LaGuardia came over the loudspeaker and told us all to behave ourselves but I don't think anyone was listening. It was joyous and raucous and the only thing that could have possibly made it better would have been if Rory were right there with me. In fact I was enjoying myself so much that wanting to get home to him was my only motivation for leaving. In the end we were all exhausted. Sunny and I each picked a sleepy child and made the slow progress back to her flat. We could still hear the crowds even from there. We talked quietly for awhile, I told her goodnight and walked back to our flat.

Almost as soon as I arrived Rory sent a message.

Back home yet, love?

How did you know?

Because Amy Pond never misses a party. Was it mad?

It was wonderful, I've never experienced anything like it before, ever! I suppose V-J Day will be much the same except you'll be here to share that with me.

Are you ready, Mrs. Pond, ready to have me puttering about the house and getting under foot. You've lived as a single gal for quite awhile now, how long will it take until you're sick to death of me?

Puttering about the house? Given up work, have we? You'll be too busy doctoring, Doctor. But seriously...Rory?

Yes, love?

Once I get you back I may never let you go.

I think I can handle that. Don't worry, I'm not going to want to go. I'll be home for good. Happy V-E Day, Amy.

Happy V-E Day, Rory.

Well, I suppose that's all for now, Doctor.

HAPPY V-E Day.

Take care of yourself and know that your family loves you.

Love across the stars,

Your,

Amy

 


	109. May 20, 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Here it is, the close of the European Theater of WW2. Rory is on his way home by way of Operation Magic Carpet which once it was said and done brought 8 million military men and women back home. They used huge cargo vessels called Liberty ships and Victory ships that could be built quickly, easily and cheaply and were employed throughout the war. Once it ended, many were converted into troop transports. Apparently a lot of the engine room scene in Titanic were filmed on the Liberty Ship SS Jeremiah O'Brien. Ok, guess that's all. There is a tiny surprise that I wonder if you'll pick up on before it's revealed. I kind of hope not! Alright, that's all I got.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of May, 1945

Dear Doctor,

For the second time now, I have seen the twilight of World War II.

Wars don't end the way you think they might and I have gone through so many cessations of hostilities it's old hat now. One moment you have you rifle in hand, aimed, cocked, ready and the next a voice blares over the loudspeaker, a voice so garbled, so distorted and choked with emotion you can barely understand what it says.

Major! Major, did you hear that?

One of my men asked me frantically and though I knew, without even hearing I didn't want to take the moment away from him.

What did they say, soldier?

The war is over. I'm sure of it! They just said, the war is over!

And so they had. And so it was.

Just like that, somewhere a treaty is signed, a winner is declared and four years of fighting comes to an abrupt end. I knew that celebrations were happening all over Europe, all over the world but here in Salzburg I urged my men to stay subdued. All around us white flags of surrender hung from windows. There might have been victory on the streets of London, celebrations in cabinet rooms as ink dried. But there was no room for celebration here.

And so began the demobbing process. Most of that day was a strange blur. There were impromptu meetings, checking and double checking orders over walkie talkies and just helping men come to grips with the abruptness of the news.

The early morning hours of the next day were spent covering up foxholes and gathering equipment. We were nearly finished just as the large transport trucks started to roll in. After an hour or so we boarded them and we were off. The trip seemed endless on one hand, mile after mile on bumpy roads , all of us crammed tightly against one another. on the other when we weren't passed out from sheer exhaustion my men were talking excitedly about all they do when they returned home. I even volunteered a bit of information myself. I'd remained a bit of a mystery to them all these long months so when I spoke of something personal they tended to quiet down and listen.

I wrote Amy several times over the long ride, chatting with her was, as always a lovely way to pass the time.

We crossed as much of Germany as we could during the day before picking a site and camping for the evening. The next morning we took up the bivoac and were off again, still half asleep. Hours later, we found ourselves in France. It took a few more days before we arrived in Le Havre...and when we did all the chatter went silent.

There was a bit of down time before we boarded and I took a moment to say my farewells to France. I had always meant to bring Amy here, always meant to see it not destroyed by war. To watch France flower and bloom in the easiness of spring. I spent my time here when it was Gaul but even then it was almost constant tribal fighting. I suppose it was never meant to be.

I spotted a young man standing on the outskirts of the cigarette camp. He looked small and nervous and the closer I got to him the more I realized he was a boy, not a man at all. He gave a quick and practiced salute when he saw me. I smiled and said at ease.

Your name, soldier?

The boys call me Freddy. 

Nice to meet you, Freddy.

Nice to meet you as well, Major. You off then, sir? Off home?

Looks like. You?

No, sir. Only just enlisted awhile back. Paratrooper. My luck, I tell you, I sign up and they decide to call it a day.

Plenty of work left to be done, we'll be occupying European soil for years to come.

Of course, sir.

He peered at me then, seeming nervous to ask his question while simultaneously being unable to hold it back.

Been here long then, sir?

Long enough. I said giving him a small smile.

Did you...have to kill anyone, sir?

I nodded slowly, not wanting to elaborate which seemed fine because he didn't really appear to want me to either.

But that doesn't mean you'll have to. I added putting a hand on his shoulder. Serve your conscious and you can't help but do your country and your King proud. Understand?

He nodded and I noted the relief that swept over his face.

How old are you, son?

His eyes flitted around nervously for a moment.

Sixteen.

Sixteen? I asked. We'd had men, even in our own division who signed up years before they were eligible but I hadn't run into one. You should have stayed home, son. No cause to be eager to jump headlong into this. Is there's one thing that's true enough about human history it's that wars are like buses, they'll be another one along if you just wait a bit.

That's what Eileen said, more or less.

Is that you girl?

Yes, sir.

Make sure you get back to her in one piece, alright?

Yes, sir.

My ship was boarding and I gave him a nod of farewell before turning back.

Private?

Sir?

You said they call you Freddy. What do  _you_  call you?

He smiled then as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask.

Back home they call me Wilf. Wilf Mott. I suppose I like that well enough.

Nice to meet you, Wilf. Stay low, keep your feet moving, Private Mott. You'll come out alright.

Thank you, sir. I will, sir.

I turned to join the line with my men, an endless line that snaked on forever. It took a good two hours to board partly because they had to give us a medical once over, you know checking for STI's and the like. But eventually we were there, inside the great expanse of a Liberty ship as it steamed towards home.

And that's where I'm writing to you, the belly of this ship in an atmosphere of joy and hope and fear and sadness and expectation that I can't fully describe. We're all going back to pick up our lives again, and that fills all of us, even me with terrific and nervous wonder.

This is the last war maneuver I will ever participate in. Operation Magic Carpet.

I'm finally coming home.

Take care, Doctor.

Thank you for being with me, every step, every moment. I couldn't have managed this without you.

The next time I write you, I'll be in Manhattan.

Love,

Rory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I stuck Wilf in there! I couldn't resist, I'd been planning that just for awhile. I really became fond of the idea. It's mentioned in the End of Time by "The Woman" that he was an old soldier who never took up arms and never had to kill anyone and that by the time he arrived the war was already over. I couldn't resist. Ok, here we go, Rory is on his way home!


	110. TUESDAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rory's home! Yay! This chapter is a bit longer than normal. I tried to give Mr. Pond a good send off when he went off to war and conversely I wanted to give him a nice and lengthy return. I hope I succeeded. Let's see, a couple notes...Gaulish was the language spoken in Gaul long before it was France. Think of it as proto-French. "The Kiss" refers to the famous V-J day kiss which in the story hasn't even happened yet. You know the one, the woman who looks like a nurse but according to some research I did, was actually a dental assistant. She heard the Japanese had surrendered so she left her office and went over to Times Square to see if it was true. Well as she was walking this sailor grabbed her, kissed her, a Time Life photographer snapped the picture and it became this iconic symbol of the end of WW2. Just look up V-J Day kiss for a refresher.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

TUESDAY

Dear Doctor,

I stood on the dock in Manhattan in my red dress, court shoes and stockings with the seams ramrod straight, victory curls, more makeup than I've worn in just about forever and the little hat with the cherries that Rory loves so much.

I was early, ridiculously early but I wasn't the only one. All around me women stood, tittering nervously, some grinning, some twisting handkerchiefs, some already crying. Wounded soldiers and mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and newborn babies all waiting just like me. But what I noticed most were the women. All of us wearing the same face, all of us waiting for a particular smile, one that we've been missing for years. All of us needing, wanting a very specific embrace, two strong arms, wrapped around us and a voice promising to never, ever go away again.

You never notice how many far off dots there are on the horizon until you find yourself waiting for a ship. Cries every so often of; I see it or There it is! erupted from various places in the crowd but were usually quickly proven to be false alarms. And so we waited, nervously, anxiously. I wondered if maybe Melody would show up. She had after all been there to see Rory off. But then again I knew how busy my little girl can be. I was alright waiting by myself because I knew soon enough I wouldn't even be by myself again.

Finally we saw it and it was as if we  _all_ saw it at once, the puff of smoke followed by the blast of the horn. A whoop went up from the crowd, we started cheering and shouting and jumping. Someone passed out little American flags. We all broke out into song just like on V-E Day. You can't imagine the feeling, Doctor, to be surrounded again and again and again by groups of people all united for the same purpose. Until we arrived here I'd never quite experienced something like that, you know, outside a footy match. And it just kept going on and on as that ship inched closer and closer and closer. When we tired a brass band started up and spurred us on and we just kept right on singing and waving and waiting.

Finally it was there and time started to move in a curious combination of a fast forwarded slow motion. It was no small feat to de-board some few hundred men. The crowd around me grew, everyone was elbows and shoulders and standing on tiptoes and craning necks. I started to despair that I wouldn't see him, that somehow we'd miss each other.

Amy?

How I heard it...his voice soft and gentle, like he was speaking my name across the dinner table, I'll never know. But I spun around and there he was, just standing there. My Rory. My Rory Arthur Williams. Mr. Pond. Home for good. Home to stay.

The second he smiled at me I started to cry. He dropped his bags, opened his arms and I took off at a run and just leapt into them. I wrapped my legs around his waist and just held on for dear life. I buried my head against his neck and I felt him nuzzling me, the scruff of his burgeoning beard scratching my cheek. We didn't speak. We didn't have to.

He held me so tight, it was like he was squeezing the air from my lungs and I didn't care. I didn't care one bit. I wanted him to hold me forever.

Amy?

Yeah? I pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were red rimmed and shining just as I imagine mine were.

It's Tuesday.

I burst out laughing and yanked him in for a kiss.

Yes. I said with a sniffle. Yeah it's Tuesday. I thought it would never get here.

Did you bring it?

I did. It's right here.

Rory slowly lowered me to my feet and I rifled through my purse and pulled out the little blue box.

He smiled broadly as he took it from me and opened it.

You really like it, right? I mean like really?

I smiled at him and brushed away a few tears with my hand.

How could you ever doubt that? I asked.

We'll take it to a jeweler and get it soldered or whatever they do to your first engagement ring, ok? I'm sure they can do something like that. Probably wouldn't even take all that-

Rory, you're delaying my proposal.

Of course, quite right. He said quickly

He leaned in to kiss me and then slowly got down on one knee.

In a flash I thought back to the girl I had been the first time he'd proposed. He was so awkward and scared, he bumbled the ring box while simultaneously knocking over a glass of wine. We had to wait for the waiter to mop up the spill before he could continue. He awkwardly got down on one knee and ran through a speech the poor thing had obviously taken great pains to memorize. His voice cracked, his hands shook. I cried and kissed him and said yes but oh God, I was so unsure. I kept calling him my boyfriend for months after that and he kept correcting me to fiance. The closer the date got the more I started to think it was all a mistake. That night when you came back for me, Doctor and took me away, I'd spent most of it being sick in the toilet. But I was going to go through with it for better or for worse.

In a way I feel so... _divorced_ from that Amelia. So silly and flighty and stupid, so careless, so ignorant and blind to the amazing man standing in front of me. But Rory wasn't who he'd become yet either, so unsure of himself, he felt so tragically unworthy of me. Sometimes I want to scream at her, tell her to wake up and grow up and see what she has right in front of her. But most of the time I realize Rory and I had a lot of growing up to do separately and together. We're not those same stupid teenagers anymore. But if we hadn't been them, we wouldn't be who we are now. They had no idea what was in store for them and I suppose even if I could change it, I wouldn't ruin the surprises, the good ones or the bad ones.

The man on his knee before me was so different from the one all those years ago. His hands didn't shake, his voice didn't crack, his eyes didn't waver. And I wasn't that girl anymore, I would marry Rory Williams everyday of the week and twice on Sundays for the rest of our lives. It was, had been and would always be the best decision I had ever made.

Amy...I thought long and hard about how I wanted to say this to you, what I should do. I know a lot more, I understand a lot more than I did the first time around. I could quote you sonnets. I could read you poems, I could tell you in Gualish just how much you mean to me. But everything, everything I could think to say would fall flat. I love you in a way that goes beyond any words in any language I've had the privilege of knowing. I love you in a way that sustains me beyond food or drink or sunlight or air. I love you in a way that kept me alive, kept me breathing and moving and loving this world instead of cursing it because nothing, nothing could be so bad on this planet if this planet held you. Waiting for you, my love, was a privilege, it was an honor and I would have waited 5000, 10,000, 20,000 years for the joy and blessing of holding you again. That's what I wanted to say, but I didn't know how to put it into words so all I came up with is, Amelia Jessica Pond-Williams, I love you. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you. You saved me that day and you have saved me everyday since.

Will you have me? Will you have this old soldier with all his faults, and weaknesses and his broken body and his graying hair and the myriad of other things wrong. All the things I'll try to fix and all the things I can't. I promise you I will love you everyday more than I did the day before. And so long as it's in my power, I will make every day of your life a happy one. Will you have me, my love?

Everyone near had grown quiet and stopped, forming an impromptu circle around us. I could feel their eyes on me waiting for an answer. I didn't mind. I didn't care and as he slipped the ring on my finger I gave him an emphatic,

Yes! Yes, Yes, Rory I will marry you again!

We beamed at each other and he slowly rose to his feet, drawing me in.

I know what you want by the way.

Oh do you? I asked with an arch of my brow.

Not that. He teased. Well,  _maybe_ that but not right here and now. You want the kiss.

The kiss?

Yeah,  _The_.  _Kiss_. I realize we might be stealing their thunder a bit but I don't know if I care.

To my surprise and absolute delight Rory put his hand to the small of my back, dipped me backwards and gave me the kiss. It was passionate and draining and when he righted me, to the sound of applause no less, I was more than a little breathless.

Can you believe I was worried you might say no?

I laughed and ran my hands through his hair just gazing at his face. I couldn't get enough of his face.

Rory, lets go home.

He nodded picked up his bags, hoisting them over his shoulder. He slipped his free hand around my waist and I rested my head on his shoulder as we walked away from the docks fielding a few calls of congratulations from those who had seen the proposal.

This is real isn't it? Tell me this is real, Rory. I have so many dreams like this and-

It's real, love. I swear.

That's what you always say in the dream.

Does your dream include a man vomiting into a sewer grate? He asked pointing to just that scene.

No, not typically.

Then I think that should reassure you that this is indeed real. He said with a grin but then he turned a bit serious and I could here the hint of sorrow in his tone.

I'm a bit surprised Melody isn't here.

I think she probably wanted to give us time alone. I supplied and it seemed to satisfy him.

I love time alone with you. In fact I'm not sure 50 years would be even half enough.

His arms felt so good around me, so strong and secure.

Are you alright, Rory? Are you tired?

Not remotely. He said but I could see the circles beneath his eyes.

We walked slowly, stopping occasionally just to kiss or for me to point out something that had changed in the neighborhood since he'd been gone. We passed a woman collecting for the local orphan asylum and Rory searched through his duffle bag, took out his discharge pay which he told me later was around 300 dollars and placed it in her basket with a smile. She was a bit too speechless to offer much more than a choked thank you.

We walked on eventually arriving at the flat. It had been so long since I'd been able to do this, walk down the street with him, walk into our apartment, every moment was like some rare forgotten treasure, everything was to be savored.

We climbed the stairs hand in hand and I unlocked the door. Spartacus rushed at us excitedly and demanded a long warm welcome from Rory but as he did so we both looked around.

The apartment was silent but it was the kind silence you know is very recent. A banner hung in the living room with the words Welcome Home Dad written on it. There were a few presents waiting on the couch. We could smell food cooking and hear the distinct sound of Rory's iPod playing. We called around the flat looking for Melody but found a note instead, sitting atop a large envelope.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_As you can see I popped by to do a little bit of decorating and tidying up. Dinner is finishing up in the oven, dessert is in the fridge, there's a freshly drawn bath and a few presents for you both in the living room. I'll stop by in the next few days to see you but you need time alone, just the two of you without your kid underfoot. I love you both._

_And Daddy, I'm so very, very glad you're home._

_Love,_

_Melody_

_P.S. There's a few things in the envelope you might want to see._

Smiling, wondering what she had managed this time Rory and I opened the envelope, inside were several 8 x 10's...of us. Taken no more than a half hour ago. Rory and I when we first saw one another, me jumping into his arms, the kiss. It was all right there.

So not only had she been here, she'd been there as well. The last picture was something different, it was taken from her vantage point, the lighting was dim but I could just make out a familiar profile. It was you, Doctor. Sound asleep in bed, Melody presumably laying at your side and just over your shoulder on your nightstand was one of these photographs. It was us, me in Rory's arms, my legs about his waist and we're just grinning at each other, tears running down our cheeks. You have us right there, next to your bed, just as we have you next to ours.

I don't think I'm going to write anymore just now, Doctor. I took the time to scribble all of this while Rory took his bath and right now, I think I'm going to go join him.

My baby is home, Doctor. I couldn't have made it through these long, long months if I didn't have you to talk to.

We love and miss you as much as ever, as much as always.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

-The Ponds, safe and sound.


	111. TUESDAY (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Dear Doctor,

I never liked the Pandorica being on display. It always felt wrong. I didn't like people gawking at it, taking pictures in front of it, reaching out to touch it. And because I didn't hide my feelings I think I earned a bit of a reputation as That Grumpy Security Guard at The National Museum. The patrons didn't care for me much but my boss loved me. He'd been looking for someone to take the job seriously and I was just the man for it. I also didn't mind the later shifts, in fact I preferred the night shifts. It was rather like old times then, I got to spend time alone with Amy, just the two of us. Though she's never mentioned it and even though I knew better I always worried that she might be lonely without me. I felt as though she needed to hear my voice.

Over the years it got harder and harder to hang on to the Pandorica. It's one thing to trail a giant box behind you in the 12 century. I mean really, everyone had a gimmick. It's quite another to house and store it as you approach the 20th, the 19th, even the 18th or 17th. It became too dangerous for Amy and for me and so eventually I had to give it up. But I was always, always close behind. She was never really out of my sight.

As I look back over my journal I notice an odd error in my writing. I often describe the stars. The blanket of stars I slept under, the stars that I showed to Vitus. Of course it's all a fabrication. There were no stars, the nights were as black and as suffocating as you can imagine.

That was the part I wasn't prepared for, Doctor. It wasn't simply the years or the loneliness or the constant vigilance necessary to look after the Pandorica and Amy. It was the darkness. Can you imagine, Doctor? 2000 years of absolute darkness. For the first few years I used to have what I can only describe as panic attacks as sunset...or should I say TARDIS-set approached. To look above you and see nothing but sky, blank and black as Indian ink. It made me nauseous and afraid, it upended me. Eventually I grew accustomed to it by doing the only thing I could think of. I replaced the stars in the sky. I used my faulty memory and my imagination and I re-hung the constellations. When I was able to get my hands on star charts I added more and more and more until for me, the night sky was filled, glittering and wonderful and bursting with ancient light. Light that was all for Amy and I. So if I mention the stars Doctor, it's only because I had them.

But, back to my job. Amy and Melody told me on two separate occasions that museums are how you keep score. They giggled of course and I smiled along with them but the thing is, I get it. Isn't it amazing all the things they get wrong? All the things they state with such confidence. You and I know. We were there. So for the first few years I just walked about the museum at night, marveling at all the gaffes and errors and mistakes and misprints. Mostly I just strolled about muttering, Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Bit right, mostly wrong to myself.

_According to legend, wherever the Pandorica was taken throughout its long history, the centurion would be there, guarding it. He appears as an iconic image in the artwork of many cultures and there are several documented accounts of his appearances and his warnings to the many who attempted to open the box before its time. His last recorded appearance was during the London Blitz in 1941. The warehouse where the Pandorica was stored was destroyed by incendiary bombs, but the box itself was found the next morning, a safe distance from the blaze. There are eyewitness accounts from the night of the fire of a figure in Roman dress carrying the box from the flames. Since then, there have been no sightings of the lone centurion, and many have speculated that if he ever existed, he perished in the fires of that night, performing one last act of devotion to the box he had pledged to protect for nearly two thousand years._

I listened to that recording night after night, day after day, it was on a motion detector switch and it was one of the oldest exhibits in that wing of the museum so sometimes it would just go off. The thing is...they'd fixed it. Just the other day, I'd seen several repair men by my exhibit fiddling with the button, adding wires and taking out old ones. So when I heard the recording start up again, in the middle of the night no less, I knew something was wrong. I was in another wing entirely and some ten minutes away. But as I always had to tell myself, trust the plastic, my hearing was beyond reproach. So I took off at a run.

2000 years I waited by that box and the second I step away for my nightly rounds the damned thing opened. I couldn't believe it, as I rounded the corner I saw that light, that impossible light pouring out from it . Then I heard that voice, terryfying and familiar. It underestimated me as so many had done in the past and I unhinged my hand and neutralized it.

And then... _there she was_.

Amy.

My perfect. Lovely. Amazing. Impossible. Ethereal, Amy. I couldn't move. I couldn't even run to her, I just stood there, bouncing from foot to foot and she ran at me and I grabbed her and swept her up into my arms. Suddenly I was flooded with guilt. The last time I had seen her, the first time I had unhinged my hand I'd killed her. I'd killed the love of my life stone dead.

Amy. I said. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. It just happened.

And then she said, Shut up.

And she kissed me and it was the best kiss that I had ever, ever had. A kiss I had waited two millenia for. And it was worth every moment. Having her there, holding her in my arms, real and solid was the most wonderful experience of my life up to that moment.

I had my Amy back and I was never, ever letting her go.

You remember the rest of course don't you Doctor? Rebooting the universe, saving us all, yet again. And still my favorite moment was that kiss.

It was good to see you again too, love.

I'm home now. This time to stay.

I'm sitting in the bathtub waiting for Amy to join me, writing to you by candlelight. I have put down my gun and taken off my uniform for the last time. No one, will ever again, call me Major Williams. From here on out, Rory will do.

I don't think I could have done this without you, Doctor. I still feel that you're here, with us in some intangible way. Almost as though you and Amy and I were connected by some thread, thin and stretched but unbreakable. Is it that way for you, Doctor, can you feel us? Can you hear us echoing down corridors of the TARDIS. No, no, I suppose I don't want that for you, my love. I don't want us to be ghosts that haunt you. Specters you chase down hallways never quite catching up. If we live in your hearts and your thoughts and sometimes even your dreams, that's more than enough. I just wanted you to know, that I feel you and I know Amy does as well. We hope you feel us too.

Will our lives even be interesting enough to continue keeping journals? I don't know. The strange thing is, as you're reading this, I guess you know, don't you? Either you're holding a book with pages upon pages after it or this is the last one. I'm not sure. Even if it is, this won't be the last time I write to you, I promised you that I'd send you a proper goodbye letter when I'm an old man and I will.

You know what...I don't want to stop writing to you, even if I have nothing more to say than, Hello, Doctor. It's Rory. We're fine. We miss you. Would you get tired of reading that? I don't imagine you would. I want to show you my children. I want to show you the garden I plan to have at our new house.

Here's Amy...and she's brought cake. She says she's always wanted to sit in a bubble bath with me...scratch that, with me  _and_ you and eat cake. She has very strange aspirations, doesn't she? She's mad but that's why we love her.

So here we are, the Ponds, sitting in a bubble bath, by candlelight, eating cake. Life is good, Doctor.

It's Rory. We're fine. We miss you.

Love,

Us


	112. August 6, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of August, 1945

Dear Doctor,

Rory and I spent a few hours outside tonight, cuddled up on a lounger, sipping wine and staring up at the sky as the Perseid meteor shower puts on a show overhead. It was pleasant but my mind was occupied with ugly thoughts.

How many, Rory?

Amy...

Just tell me. I looked it up last night but I avoided looking at the sums. I don't know why.

Of course you know why. Because it's awful.

How many.

Rory sighed. Upwards of 246 thousand. I don't believe that includes subsequent deaths from cancer.

We can't stop it.

We can't stop anything.

In a few hours from now...

I trailed off and he filled the empty spaces for me.

I know how you feel, Amy. He said kissing my temple. Believe me, I know. We've both lived it, every single day. I guess we're going to have to go on living it.

All those people...

Rory was silent for a moment as he tugged me closer.

Do you know there wasn't once in over 2000 years that I ever missed the Perseid's. Not once. You know the comet that they originate from almost wipes out the planet in 4479.

No, how do you know that?

The Doctor and I stopped it.

Where was I?

You were off having a nap. It had been predicted since our time that it would slam into Earth and over a mug of hot chocolate the Doctor and I piloted the TARDIS and diverted it.

It never did pay to sleep on board. I said with a chuckle.

I'm still growing accustomed to waking up and finding Rory here, just as it took me so long to get used to him being gone. I'm still liable to sit up in the middle of the night in a panic and slam a hand down, expecting to come in contact with an empty mattress and instead smacking poor Rory on the thigh or worse yet the knackers. He, of course just laughs it off and mumbles sleepily, I'm here darling, go back to bed. We're slowly getting back into our own domestic routine. He's all but decided not to go back to the hospital on a permanent basis but he may keep his privileges there. We're looking into places where he could open his own private practice. Oh and we've bought a house! It's so lovely and huge, Doctor and once we get it fixed up I'll send you pictures. It's everything Rory and I wanted, two stories with a well sized yard and a garden, an office for both of us, a room that will make a perfect nursery and two spare rooms, one for guests and one to keep all of our advanced tech.

We're keeping the flat because it's also home and we love it and rather than let it stand empty we're renting it to Sunny. We wanted to give it to her but she insists on paying us something. We agreed we wouldn't take more than the hefty sum of a nickel a month. She's my best friend here and I love her dearly and we certainly don't need the money. We should be moving out and helping her move in in a week or so.

We're thinking of an October wedding and then, once we're settled we're going to push ahead with the adoption. I can't wait. I'm so excited it's almost all I can think about. With everything going on my entries may get just the slightest bit sparse, Doctor, but rest assured, we're all in this together. You'd never abandon us and I'll never abandon you. You're going to have to hear about the mundane, day-to-day occurrences of my life until Rory and I are old gray-haired pensioners so get used to it mister!

I'm trying to think of the loveliness of this world. I'm trying to forget the ugly, especially the ugly that we're powerless to resolve. I don't think I'll ever stop hating fixed points in time.

The Perseid's are beautiful, Doctor. Streaking across the sky, like interstellar fireworks zooming towards home. So many shooting stars, so many wishes to make, so many already having come true.

Wish on a star for all of us, my love.

Love,

Amy and Rory

 


	113. August 9, 1945

_**9th of August, 1945** _

My God, Amy...what have I done?

**Curators note: Though bearing no signature this brief message is, in all likelihood from Edwin Bracewell.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki remain a divisive issue especially in regards to the insistence that this was the only way to bring a quick and definitive end to the war. Upwards of 160,000 people were killed in Hiroshima and over 80,000 in Nagasaki. Albert Einstein, cosigned a letter to President Roosevelt in 1939 encouraging the US to research atomic weapons before the Germans did. In later years he expressed deep regret and was quoted as saying "When I signed the letter to President Roosevelt recommending that atom bombs be made;.. there was some justification - the danger that the Germans would make them. Had I known that the Germans would not succeed in developing an atomic bomb, I would have done nothing."
> 
> He later described signing that letter as the "one great mistake" of his life.


	114. September 13, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dorabella Bracewell**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of September 1945

Dear Amy and Rory,

On behalf of Edwin and myself allow me to extend our thanks at being invited to your wedding ceremony. We do so wish we could attend but unfortunately my husband is simply not up it at this time. He appreciates your letters, Amy and he has read each and every one. I do think they cheer him a bit and I ask you to continue your correspondence with him...even if he doesn't answer back.

I've decided it would be best for both of us if we returned to Scotland immediately. Once he has been debriefed we will board a ship and head for home. I do wish we could have stopped by for even a short visit before our departure but I'm afraid circumstances won't permit it.

Candidly speaking, I'm terribly worried about him. He's sunk into a deep depression, barely speaks, hardly takes any food. I'm hoping that being away from America and all the events of the past few years will do him some good. In all honesty, if this doesn't help I'm at a bit of a loss. This didn't all just begin with the dropping of the bomb, truth be told he's been battling against these feelings almost since he arrived. When we were at Chalk River, Edwin believed in what he was doing, he believed it was for the greater good and I think that deep down he believed we would never have to use it.

I worry this may have destroyed him.

No matter where I may have come from, and yes Edwin has explained it to me, I'm here now and I am as real as he is...and I love him. I only want him to be the man that he used to be, vibrant, clever, energetic and enthused about life.

I fear perhaps I've said too much. Again, I apologize for having to miss your wedding, I know Edwin was so looking forward to giving you away.

Take care and  _please_ write to us.

Yours,

Dorabella


	115. September 24, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Edwin Bracewell**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of September 1945

Dear Bracey,

Dorabella wrote to us and I have to be honest, her words had Rory and I worried about you. Though, as you can imagine, it's not as if we didn't expect it. I wish we could have warned you, my friend, or prepared you but I'm afraid the Doctor taught us too well. We always have and always will do our best to avoid contaminating timelines, though I have to say I'm filled with regret about it now.

Now, I could infuse this letter with a whole slew of platitudes and sayings meant to offer comfort...but I won't. I think we're both too frank for that, aren't we? So...I just tell you something that...I don't like to talk about but maybe, just maybe it might help you.

I killed someone once.

She was someone who wanted to hurt my family very badly, my baby, my husband, my Doctor. She tormented me for months, she stole me away from the people I loved, kept me caged in a box, performed horrible experiments and tests and procedures on me. But I could have dealt with all of that. I could have borne that. But then...she took my baby. She robbed Rory and I of our sweet Melody. She frightened her and hurt her and abused her and she twisted her into something dark and murderous and awful. She stole away all the happy years we should have had together, years I can't ever get back.

I know you don't understand what I'm sayig. I know that's not the Melody you met and I'm grateful for that. That Melody...that  _River_ doesn't exist anymore. But neither does the baby that was ripped from my arms.

I walked around after she was gone feeling as though someone had hollowed me out, like there was just this gaping hole inside of me and I can't...I can't un-feel those feelings. I can't rewrite them, they happened. No matter what the Doctor says, when you've lived it, there are no redo's. Every timeline I've walked in that I can remember happened to me. It was real, they were all real. And getting her back as an adult doesn't mean I don't lament the loss of her as a baby.

But I'm getting off track. I trust in your ability to just go with me on certain things, Bracey, so here it comes. There was once an alternate timeline and everyone here was there as well, myself, Rory, the Doctor, Melody and Kovarian, the woman who tortured me and my family.

There came a point, just as we were making our escape where she was helpless, wounded, in pain. She begged me for mercy, Edwin. She begged me. And she invoked the one name that I hold sacred above all others.

She told me, You'll still save me though. Because HE would, and you'd never do anything to disappoint your precious Doctor.

And I agreed with her. Had the Doctor been watching I would have remained his upstanding, good hearted little Amelia...but the Doctor wasn't watching.

The how isn't important but the fact is I murdered her. I stood back and I watched her die. And worse yet, I took pleasure in it. I felt joy as I watched her crumple and writhe in pain. At the moment it was good, wonderful, in fact. I was finally getting a chance to act out something I'd wanted to do for what seemed like forever.

But eventually the guilt set in. Crushing, at times debilitating guilt. Not only had I killed someone but I'd kept it a secret, Rory knew but the truth is he's more foggy on that timeline than others. Melody knew, but she kept stressing to me that it was an aborted existence, it never really happened. The Doctor didn't know, he had no idea what I'd done. Though I suppose if he's reading this right now, now he does know. I wonder what he thinks of me...

Aborted or not it was real to me and I had to deal with it and live with it and come to terms with it.

I know it's not the same, Edwin. I know that. Maybe you're wondering what I'm even going on about but...what you did, you did in good faith. You did it because you believed even the threat, the rumor of it would save lives. You were doing what you thought was right and you certainly weren't working alone. So you shouldn't try and bear this alone.

I think that's perhaps the main difference, despite what people from the outside might think, you didn't set out to take lives.

But in that moment,  _I did_. What keeps me up at night sometimes isn't just the fact that I did it...it's that despite the guilt, I still don't regret it.

You're a good man, Bracey. And you can get through this but you have to try, you have to make a grab for the good things in this world. And if you feel that you've taken too much out of it then do your best to put more back in. You can't unwrite it, my friend, but you can make sure you're the author of your story in the future. In the end, that's all we are, just stories. We just have to make sure that when we write that last page, we're proud of all that's come before.

I don't know if this helped you at all. I don't even know if it makes sense. I just know I love you and I miss you and I want you well. I want to see your face around my dinner table sometime soon. Rest, recuperate, let Dorabella take care of you and then come back to us.

We're family, we always will be and we miss you.

Love,

Amy


	116. September 25, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

25th of September, 1945

Dear Doctor,

I worry now that you're cross with me. Or even far worse, disappointed. You have no idea how much my heart broke on our first adventure together. You were furious that I hadn't told you that I'd voted. Beyond being furious you gave me this look that just said, Maybe it was all a mistake inviting you along, Amelia Pond. Maybe I was absolutely wrong about you.

But I was only trying to protect you, that's all I've ever wanted to do...protect you.

I suspect you're not nearly so blasé about alternate timelines as Melody. Now you know what I did. You know that I don't regret it and that I would absolutely do it again. I would murder her again for daring to lay hands on my daughter or my husband or you.

She paid the price for trying to come after me through the people I love. And at least in that universe it's an error she won't make again.

Have I changed in your eyes? I hope not. I hope you still love me. I remember holding you back, pulling you from the edge, making you turn away from that dark side of yours on occasion. I suppose we all need that.

I'm sorry if this revelation pains you but I'm not sorry for what I did. I would kill anyone who tried to hurt my family again.

So, that's who I am, I guess. I used to worry about what kind of person it made me. I don't anymore, not really. I only worry now about what kind of person  _you think_ it makes me.

I wanted to talk to you about it then.

I wish I could talk to you now.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love,

Amy


	117. October 3, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Correspondence from Mr. Martin Joseph Pail to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

October 3, 1945

Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

I apologize for the delay in getting back to you. There's been a bit of a shakeup in our editorial department as of late. I was recently assigned a rather enormous stack of manuscripts and out of all of them yours stood out to me.

I am intrigued by the story of little Cordelia Puddle and her adventures with the Raggedy Doctor. I assume you mean this to be part of a series. We're currently in the market to flesh out our children and young adult category so you mailed this to us at the perfect time.

Also, this falls into step with an idea of my own. A series that grows with the reader. We tend to lose our audience, especially young ladies as they enter adolescence. I would like to put forth a serial that ages with them. Capture their imaginations as children, the same age as Cordelia and then have her grow up along with them. I think there is remarkable potential for these two characters.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure...this isn't even my second week on the job. I am, admittedly totally green. I understand that you might have better offers or that this may not even be the direction you wanted to take your character. But, Mrs. Pond-Williams, if you'd give me a chance, I think we could turn this into something wonderful. I'd like to personally work with you and see this published before spring of 1946.

I eagerly await your reply.

Yours,

Martin J. Pail

Junior Editor

Random House, Inc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long winded Authors Note:
> 
> Ok, so here's what I'm thinking, I don't know the ages of you guys and gals out there but when I was little I really liked the Sweet Valley Twins (middle school) books. Not to be confused with Sweet Valley Kids (the twins as 7 year olds) Sweet Valley High (high school), Sweet Valley University (College) or Sweet Valley Confidential (adulthood). Anyways, the books were ridiculous but when I was like 10 and 11, I loved 'em. My point is, these terribly written, convoluted novels, if they did their job could hook you as a child and take you all the way into being a grownup, which is kind of a wonderful idea. That's always been what I wanted to do with Amy's stories, I want her to do children's lit but I also want the books to mature. I don't want to leave out her/Cordelia's marriage and the adventures she had with the Doctor that are a bit more grown up and violent and dramatic. I want the adventures of Cordelia Puddle to be a series that evolves and changes as the years pass. I know, it probably sounds a little unbelievable BUT this is fiction, it's my made up world and that's what I think I want to do. :)
> 
> And yes, I'm going to have Amy totally Mary-Sue it up with her stories, but you know what, I think she's entitled! That being said, I decided to have her give her main character a silly little name, similar to hers but not exactly it. Hopefully it still sounds like a name from a fairy tale. And so Cordelia Puddle was born.
> 
> Oh, and I don't know if you were like me and found yourself puzzled by the whole Lorna Bucket character in A Good Man Goes To War. I kept trying to figure out her significance, especially with the last name "Bucket". I kept wondering was she related to Amy or was she a future version of River...blah blah blah. Well, awhile back I found this tweet by Moffat where he explained that Lorna was "the bucket that carried the pond to the river." When I read that I just adored it. So, I named Amy's editor Martin Pail so that he can be the pail that carries the puddle to the world.
> 
> Ok, that's all I got, Review if you like. :D They are always, always, always appreciated.


	118. October 19, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

19th of October 1945

Dear Doctor,

Today I was a bride again.

My first wedding was wonderful. I wish you could have been there. That whole day I knew something was missing. Something important and vital, something that made my heart ache every time I thought about it.

Today there was a different kind of ache, a very specific one that only Rory, Melody and I shared.

I was actually nervous, if you can believe it.

I think those feelings go hand in hand with the white dress. We'd decided to forgo the church this time so we hired a Justice of the Peace and were having our ceremony in a quiet part of Central Park. It was small, intimate just as I wanted it to be. Sunny as my bridesmaid, Melody as my matron of honor, Raphael and his brother and a few other friends we'd made along the way.

I was standing beneath a tree, holding my bouquet and waiting for my cue, watching Melody and Sunny walk down our makeshift aisle ahead of me when I felt a hand touch my arm.

Not too late, am I?

I spun towards him in surprise.

Bracey!

I threw my arms around him and pulled him into a bit of a bearhug. He chuckled and hugged me back just as fiercely. Just over his shoulder I saw Dorabella smile and wave at me before tiptoeing away to take her seat.

How are you here? I asked.

Your husband. He sent us plane tickets and a simple note, it just said, "If you're not there, you know you'll regret it. Brave heart, Bracewell." That combined with your lovely letter convinced me that I was being selfish. So, if you'll still have me, Amy, may I give you away?

You may indeed.

I walked down the aisle on Edwin's arm towards my once and future husband. He looked so handsome in his full dress uniform. I'd asked him to wear it, just so that this occasion, the last time he ever put it on would be a happy one.

Just as we were getting to the 'do you take's' there was the distinct sound of running footsteps. A delivery man, obscured by an enormous arrangement of burgundy flowers was rushing towards us. Rory and I barely blinked. When you've had a TARDIS crash your reception very little surprises you anymore.

I haven't missed it have I? The man asked me.

Ummm, no, actually you've landed right in the middle of it. Are those for us?

If you're... He trailed off as he gazed at the card. The Ponds?

We are. Rory supplied. Who are those from?

But even then, we already knew.

No idea. My guy goofed big time. I've been training this new fella. I usually do all the orders but I've been trying to get him used to things and he just missed this one. Went out for deliveries this morning and I see these sitting on the desk big as day. He just left 'em there. So I hotfooted it down here to catch you all. I didn't know we carried these flowers...I don't even know what kind of flowers these  _are_. He finished with a frown. I'm Jerry, by the way.

I'll take them, Jerry, if you don't mind. Melody said with a smile.

Yeah, sure, sorry for interruption. But the instructions said they needed to arrive  _before_ the I do's.

May we proceed? The Justice of the Peace asked looking none too pleased with any of us.

Yes, of course. I said. Jerry, you can stay if you like.

Oh! Thank you, ma'am.

The judge started to continue but this time it was Rory who stopped him.

I'm sorry, hang on a moment. Melody, can you hold those up for a moment.

Melody raised the flowers up a bit, a confused look on her face. Rory stepped closer and I saw him start to smile.

Amy, look what's binding them together.

Rory gestured and I looked to where he was pointing. There, at the base, binding the thick, green stalks to one another was a strip of red fabric...appearing to be about the width and length of a bow tie.

Rory quickly untied it from the flowers as Melody and I fought back tears and then brought it back over to me.

Before the I do's. My husband said softly before continuing. May I have your hand, Mrs. Pond?

I offered it to him immediately and he began to wrap the fabric around my palm followed by his own.

Bracey, Melody, will you come up here please? He asked.

Melody passed the flowers to Sunny and she and a confused Bracewell took their place at our sides.

I gave you away, little one. Rory said addressing our daughter. Care to return the favor?

She pressed her lips together before giving up and just letting the tears flow. Giving her dad a quick kiss on the cheek she cleared her throat and spoke.

I consent and gladly give.

Edwin? I asked and even though I knew he wasn't quite clear on what was going on he fell in step.

I consent and gladly give.

Rory leaned in and we shared a soft, brief kiss.

Ok. I said never taking my eyes off Rory. N _ow_ we're ready to proceed.

The magistrate looked more than a bit put out but he went on anyway and so, today was the day I was double married, once by the state of New York and once in the tradition of Gallifrey.

We all went back to our new house, we'd finally gotten settled just in time to host our reception. It was wonderful, even Jerry came along. We danced and ate and sang and took photos and once it was just the family, we brought out the laptops and digital cameras and snapped a few more as our wedding song list played on Rory's iPod.

Melody left, far too soon as always but she wanted to give us time alone for our honeymoon.

After a few go rounds of rather energetic lovemaking I lay there in Rory's arms which is where I am now.

Did you notice there was no note on the card. Just "The Ponds". That's all.

I noticed, Amy. He said softly.

Why do you think that is?

Rory sighed for a moment and appeared to be gathering his thoughts before he spoke.

I think...he can't bear it. He's obviously reading...but engaging is too much for him. In a strange way, engaging would mean acknowledging that we're gone. Every move he made, every action he took would be the last time he did something. The  _last_ letter he wrote us, the  _last_ flowers or gift he sent us. The  _last_  message he had delivered. He doesn't like endings and we're just one giant ending for him right now. I don't think he's ready to face that head on just yet. He will be, eventually, but it's going to take time.

I nodded. That did sound precisely like you, Doctor.

I suppose that makes sense. So, will you be wearing the bow tie then? I asked him with a grin.

Rory broke into a laugh and then gave me a kiss.

I don't see that happening just yet. He replied. But I do think it should go in our wedding album. Or maybe we should wrap it around our picture frame. I love him for sending it to us.

Me too. And, I've been thinking, we should renew our vows every ten years.

You just want an excuse to throw a party.

Of course I do...but seriously. I would marry you a thousand times. Again and again and again. When I'm 50, when I'm 60, when I'm 70...

So would I.

Thank you. And thank you for the handfasting and for being a wonderful husband and for sending Edwin and Dorabella that plane ticket.

Rory paused.

I'll take credit for the first few things...but Amy, I didn't send them a plane ticket. I assumed you did.

For a moment or so, Rory and I just looked at each other.

Love across the stars, Doctor,

And as always...thank you.

Your Ponds


	119. October 30, 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, some important backstory. Japanese-American citizens weren't the only ones interned in camps during WWII. In fact some German and German-American citizens were also rounded up and kept there for the duration.
> 
> I post this with trepidation because there is an enormous amount of German and it's all from Google Translations. As I've said in previous chapters I don't speak the language at all so if someone can and would like to correct any errors just message me.
> 
> That being said, here we are, another milestone in the Ponds life. The book that Rory reads is called The Little Prince. That's the second time I've worked it into the story, can you tell yet that it's one of my absolute favorites? You can read it for free online in just about every language imaginable. I only have Rory read about the first paragraph or so.

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

30th of October 1945

Dear Doctor,

It's half past three in the morning and neither Amy nor I can sleep. But for once its for a good reason.

We went to the local orphans asylum today. We'd had the appointment scheduled since the day after I got back home and finally it was time to see it for ourselves. Or rather, see it for myself.

Mrs. Evans, the governess, greeted us at the door with a smile. Too many movies had conditioned me to expect a gaunt, sour faced task master who probably beat the children when anyones back was turned. You know the type, Doctor. But she was a robust woman with a sweet demeanor and an easy grin that was just a touch desperate. That desperation could of course be forgiven. Her job wasn't an easy one. While adoption rates were slowly on the rise and would double in the coming decade, the baby boom was on. Many war weary couples were trying to put their lives back together and not looking to add a new mouth to feed to the mix.

But Amy and I were lucky, fortunate enough to be taken care of by Melody and you, we'd never want for anything for the rest of our lives. And we so desperately wanted to share our good fortune with someone else.

We are so pleased to have you here Doctor and Mrs. Williams.

We're very happy to be here, Mrs. Evans. I replied.

Let me give you the grand tour.

She took us from room to room and I'm not sure what I had been expecting. I suppose both Amy and I were braced for the hard sell, for children to be thrust at us, maybe forced to sing and dance for our approval or some other such nonsense. Instead we walked around and saw their play rooms and classrooms, their yard, their lunch area. We stopped into an empty art class and looked at some of the drawings and paintings on the wall and Amy immediately teared up. The children noted us, some of them smiled, some just stared, some even looked a bit afraid. In Amy's eyes I saw the same emotions I was experiencing reflected back at me.

Oh Rory, I want them all. Her gaze said and what could I do but nod.

As we toured a second playroom, with Mrs. Evans pointing out specific boys and girls on the way a small figure in a corner caught my eye. A little boy, off by himself flipping solemnly through a picture book.

What's his name? Amy asked before I could.

Oh, I doubt you'd be interested in him.

I felt my wife tense at my side but she still kept the polite smile on her face. Only now it didn't reach her eyes.

Oh and why is that? She asked.

We braced ourselves for something ugly, Doctor, but as it turns out we were wrong.

Mrs. Evans lowered her voice to a near whisper and spoke.

He was in the camps with his mother. He was born there, poor little thing. His father went off to fight and died in the war. His mother was German and she died not a month or so before it all ended. He only speaks a few words of English, here and there and that makes prospective parents...hesitant. So much of a culture shock, so many bad feelings. Not something many parents want to take on.

Bad feelings? Amy protested. He's a child, a baby, he can't be more than two.

Not even. I just assumed-

Mrs. Evans broke off mid sentence as she saw me making my way over to him. Squatting down I gave him a wide smile. He was small, even for his age and he had an apprehensive little look on his face.

Hey there, how are you? I asked in a quiet voice. I decided to try english first, just to see how he reacted, just to see what he could handle. Had been looking at me expectantly, waiting to see what I would do or say. I saw a flicker of disappointment cross his features after I spoke and he slowly turned his attention back to his book.

I observed him for a moment more before trying again.

Hallo kleiner Mann. Und wie heißt du?

That got him. In fact he looked up so surprised his book clattered to the floor. He stared at me, his little mouth hanging open.

Sie muss einen Namen haben. I pressed with a smile.

Anthony. He said after a moment in a soft voice.

Anthony. Das ist ein großer name!

He blinked at me, almost as if he thought this might somehow be a trick.

Welches buch ist das?

Anthony pointed to the image on the cover which I immediately recognized. It was one of Amy's favorites.

Darf ich dies lesen mit ihnen?

Anthony nodded and I seated himself on the floor and gently pulled him into his lap. He was small and light and I held him close and I opened the book before us. My thoughts briefly drifted to Vitus and how long it had been since I'd held a child in my arms.

I cleared my throat and started to read aloud.

**Der Kleine Prinz von Antoine de Saint-Exupéry**

Als ich sechs Jahre alt war, sah ich einmal in einem Buch über den Urwald, das Erlebte Geschichten« hieß, ein prächtiges Bild. Es stellte eine Riesenschlange dar, wie sie ein Wildtier verschlang. In dem Buche hieß es: Die Boas verschlingen ihre Beute als Ganzes, ohne sie zu zerbeißen. Daraufhin können sie sich nicht mehr rühren und schlafen sechs Monate, um zu verdauen.

I couldn't quite tell if he was listening to the story or not. He seemed much more captivated by me. I wondered how long his mother had been ill, how alone and afraid he'd been and how long since he'd last heard words that he clearly understood. At one point I stopped reading and grinned at him before giving his chin a tickle.

Du verpasst all die schönen Bilder! I said pointing to the pages.

And then Anthony laughed and I heard Mrs. Evans gasp from Amy's side clear across the room.

I don't think he's laughed since he's arrived. She said softly.

Well...we'll give him a life full of laughter. Amy returned.

You want him? The governess said with surprise.

Amy's answer of course echoed my own.

More than the wide world. .

Möchtest du jemanden treffen? I asked him. Anthony pointed impatiently at the book and I chuckled. Mach dir keine Sorgen, du wirst sie mögen. Amy, come and meet Anthony, he's wonderful.

You'll bring us the paperwork, yeah? She asked Mrs. Evans before coming over to join me. She sat down on the floor and extended her hand to shake Anthony's tiny one. After a moment he took it.

So here we sit, Doctor, at home, hours later unable to sleep, like children on Christmas Eve. We're also doing the most paradoxical shopping on record. Searching the internet for old sales ads from the 40's so we'll know what we're looking for when we go shopping to populate a nursery.

We're going back to visit him tomorrow, in fact one or both of us plan on seeing him everyday until the day we walk out of there with him in our arms.

We don't have him yet. Even in this day and age adoption may take months but Mrs. Evans was over the moon and promised to rush our application through.

In the meantime we shop, we pick out colours, we plan, we dream, we imagine and we wait.

We wait for our son.

Goodnight, Doctor.

Love, Rory


	120. The Adventures of Cordelia Puddle

**Curators Note: Few original first editions of the initial Cordelia Puddle stories remain in circulation. Those that do remain are in the hands of private collectors, mostly those who see themselves as Doctor aficionados and historians. And according to our research we are in possession of the one of two surviving first drafts of Cordelia and the Raggedy Doctor. The other resides in the Library. This handwritten fragment is naturally a very special treasure in our collection.**

**Cordelia And The Raggedy Doctor**

**First Draft - Fragment**

Seven year old Cordelia Puddle turned over in bed and balling up her fist thumped it as hard as she could on the wall behind her.

Alright then! If he's escaped then go after him and let me sleep!

It sounded brave. And she  _was_ brave, hardly afraid of anything, not suddenly moving from Inverness to Leadworth, not the bullies at school, not the endless hours alone, not anything...except this crack.

_Prisoner Zero has escaped._

Every night she heard that same sentence, rumbling from just behind her bed. When the crack had first appeared she showed it to her Aunt Karen who'd said a string of bad words and muttered something she didn't understand about "craftsmanship my eye" and "getting swizzed". But that wasn't what Cordelia meant. Just looking at the crack made her feel a bit sick and it was later that night that she started hearing the voice.

It had been going on for weeks now but tonight for some reason it seemed so much worse. Maybe because she was alone. Maybe because there was no moon and it seemed especially dark outside. Maybe because she could swear, after she pounded, the voice sounded angrier.

There was only one way to fix this.

Scrambling out of bed she got to her knees.

Dear Santa, Thank you for the dolls and pencils and the fish. It's Easter now, so I hope I didn't wake you. But honest, it is an emergency. There's a crack in my wall. Aunt Karen says it's just an ordinary crack but I know it's not. Because at night I hear voices. So please, please could you send someone to fix it. Or a policeman… or…

At that point there was a terrible ruckus outside, It sounded like...well it sounded like nothing she'd ever heard before. Maybe nothing  _anyone_ had ever heard before. But, she was being impolite to Santa.

Back in a moment. She said before rushing to the window.

And there, right there in her own garden was the answer to her prayers. A big, wonderful, blue box with POLICE printed on it. Say what you would about him, the man in the red suit worked fast!

Thank you Santa.

Grabbing a torch she rushed down the stairs, through the kitchen and out to her back yard. The box was turned over on its side and great loud noises were coming from within. Crashes and booms and cracks and splashes and then, suddenly, the doors flew open!

Cordelia took a step back and watched in awe as a grappling was flung from parts unseen out of the box.

A moment later a man appeared, soaking wet his clothing tattered and torn. His eyes met Cordelia's eyes and she stared back at him in amazement.

From his look she could tell he was about to say something important, something vital, something that would explain everything.

The strange man gazed at her and smiled and finally opened his mouth to speak.

"Can I have an apple?" He asked hopefully.


	121. November 8, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of November 1945

Dear Doctor,

Days seem to move faster now that Rory is home and yet I haven't felt this relaxed or happy in a very long time. I've started writing again, simultaneously doing the final edits on the collection series of Women on the Homefront interviews, penning a post war afterward as well as completing the first Cordelia Puddle story. Martin is a wonderful editor and cheerleader and I've taken so many of his suggestions to heart. It is amusing though, when he asks Why would the Doctor say that or Why would Cordelia do that I have to stop myself from saying Because that's what we did!

We visit Anthony everyday and learn a little more about his story each time. His mother was German but his father was an American citizen. I thought Anthony didn't sound like a common German name but he was named after his dad. He likes picture books and he knows a bit more English than he lets on. He loves to be tickled and he drifts off right in my lap when Rory sings to him. Speaking of singing, Rory's is teaching me a German lullaby, mostly I only understand it phonetically at this point but I'm building my deutsch vocabulary slowly but surely.

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. (Sleep, baby sleep)

Der Vater hüt't die Schaf. (Your father tends the sheep.)

Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein, (Your mother shakes the branches small)

Da fällt herab ein Träumelein. (Lovely dreams in showers fall.)

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf (Sleep, baby sleep)

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. (Sleep, baby sleep)

Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf. (Across the heavens move the sheep.)

Die Sternlein sind die Lämmerlein, (The little stars are lambs, I guess,)

Der Mond, der ist das Schäferlein. (And the moon is the shepherdess.)

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf (Sleep, baby sleep)

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. (Sleep, baby sleep)

So schenk' ich dir ein Schaf.(I'll give to you a sheep.)

Mit einer goldnen Schelle fein, (And it shall have a bell of gold)

Das soll dein Spielgeselle sein. (For you to play with and to hold.)

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. (Sleep, baby sleep)

It helps me to write it out like that, it cements it better in my brain, I think.

We both figure Anthony will like it because he loves The Little Prince and it begins with sheep. He's so wonderful, Doctor. In the first few days he was where we left him, in that little corner by himself just he and his books. But now Mrs. Evans tells us he's opened up more, he engages a bit with the other children. We had hoped to take him home before Thanksgiving but the wheels are moving so slowly. It doesn't look as though that's going to happen. It doesn't matter because we'll be here and make certain that he and all the children have the best Thanksgiving ever.

He cries when we leave and it breaks my heart, Doctor. One day we'll get to take him home for good. For now we visit. I write and edit. Rory has signed on with another hospital and we're looking for a building for his private practice. Oh and I've splurged and bought quite a few more little boy clothes than I needed. But I couldn't help it.

I'm hoping Melody will join us for the upcoming holidays, I want her to meet her little brother as soon as possible.

Do you think you and she will ever have children, Doctor? Is it possible? I mean an actual combination of human and Time Lord the old fashioned way. I know I say this every few years and I'm likely not going to stop saying it. I bet you were a great dad and I bet you could be one again.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love,

Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, a couple things. I realize I didn't make it clear that Anthony was in fact an American citizen so I wanted to clarify that now. I hope you enjoyed the Cordelia Puddle story but just in case you were worried, have no fear. It won't become a regular thing. Little snippets will pop up from time to time mostly because I was to establish the Cordelia Puddle adventures as a real thing in your mind, something that eventually grows as popular as say Harry Potter. I can't tell you how at the moment but all of this ties into River and the Library. You'll just have to wait and see! Oh and if you want to hear "Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf" you can find a few versions of it on Youtube. :)


	122. November 17th 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Dear Doctor,

Sunny has been forwarding our mail to us and this turned up in the post a few days ago. I really wish you were around to tell us a bit more about this bloke. I was just starting to trust him when he got shot. I wonder if that was wise. Damn it...I hate flying into things blind.

_October 26th 1945_

_Major Williams,_

_Long time no see. I want to thank you for getting my body back to the Brits. I woke up in the hold of a steamer, packed in ice and headed for home. I didn't feel like answering a bunch of questions so I slipped out of the makeshift morgue and disembarked with the rest of the men when we landed. Spent the remainded of the war in smaller skirmishes and now I'm back to doing what I do best._

_I carried that little note you left me the entire time and I figured this might be the perfect occasion to call on an old friend. What do you say? Think you put an old Army buddy up for a few days? Can't give you an exact date, mind you, I'm a bit tied up at the moment. But what do you think?_

_After all, you started telling me a story you never finished._

_And I asked you a question you never really answered._

_You know how temporal paper works, just drop me a line. Yea or Nay._

_Yours,_

_Captain Jack Harkness_


	123. December 31th 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

31th of December 1945

Dear Doctor,

Arguing with Rory over Harkness stretched into Thanksgiving and well past Christmas. My first answer was No. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances. I do not want him here. And I certainly don't want him here when we're so close to getting Anthony.

This wasn't unexpected for Rory and he patiently waited until I had all my objections out before he spoke.

I understand how you feel. But he can't hurt us now. Frankly I don't think he wants to...and I have a lot of questions. Don't you want to know more about him? Don't you want to know more about the Doctor?

Of course that was where he got me. Of course I want to know more about you. I always want to know more about you. I'm greedy, hungry for information. It's funny you know, Melody, on the surface seems so willing, so eager to talk to you but when it's over, when our conversations end I don't know that I really know anymore than when we first started.

Maybe Rory and I are the same way. After all, how would we know? Maybe you engender a certain silence, a calm, Cheshire cat reservation.

But it wasn't just about you Doctor. Though that would have been enough. There's a certain safety that comes with surrounding ourselves with Melody, Edwin, Dorabella, Winston and now perhaps Jack. It's nice to be with people who know. People with whom Rory and I can discuss things freely. It's hard to hide your entire life, it wears on you. And the truth is, we can't ever have too many friends, can we?

Still we went back and forth and back and forth about it. It wasn't until today, New Years Eve that I finally relented.

Write to him and tell him it's fine if he comes. But you tell him, if I feel for one moment that either you or Anthony are in danger I'll kill him myself.

Rory gave a surprisingly obedient nod and started off to write a reply before pausing.

I did make clear the whole Unable To Die, thing right?

Then I'll just take supreme satisfaction in  _temporarily_ killing him, alright?

Oh Doctor, what have we gotten ourselves into?

Love across the stars and Happy New Year, old friend.

Who knows what 1946 will bring...

Love, Amy


	124. January 8, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of January, 1946

Dear Doctor,

Let me be the first to introduce my son, your brother-in-law Anthony Brian Vitus Pond-Williams. I've included a picture. Isn't he handsome? Though he was a bit shy at first, in the time that we've been visiting him he's made a few friends at the orphanage and he was sad to leave them. We promised we'd bring him back to play and visit whenever he liked.

We bought him a little teddy bear with moveable arms and legs and a long, silly snout that made him burst out laughing. Amy helped him on with a brand new winter coat and a matching pair of wellies which he took great delight in stomping about the room in. We spoke to Mrs. Evans and told her we'd gotten all the children winter coats and boots and mittens so they could enjoy the winter as well. Amy and I had become unofficial patrons of the orphanage, because the truth is, we still wanted to take all of them home. But today was about Anthony and only Anthony.

As we left the building he reached for our hands,  _both_ our hands and asked,

Wo gehen wir hin?

Home, little man. I replied. We had been trying to integrate more English into his speech.

Kneeling in front of him I placed a hand on his small shoulder.

Would that be alright? Möchten sie nach hause kommen mit uns? Would you like for Amy and I to be your mummy and daddy? Would you like to be our little boy?

We'd asked him before. But we just wanted to make sure. Amy joined me, both of us on his level, looking into his little face. He regarded us both for a moment before nodding solemnly.

We both gave him a hug before putting him into the car. I hated the fact that we didn't have a booster seat for him but I just resolved to drive even more carefully than usual. When we showed him his room at home he asked where were the other children he'd be sharing with. Amy and I told him it was all his and he could scarcely believe it. It was brightly painted and filled with toys and games, a big boy bed all his own and a phonograph and radio. Amy and I had resolved not to spoil him. No matter how much money we had he was not going to grow up as some pampered Manhattan terror. But he'd been through enough and just for now...we couldn't resist.

That being said, he slept in our bed that first night. He was having bad dreams. We heard him crying by himself and Amy hurried in, picked he and his teddy up and brought him to bed with us. We talked with him and sang him songs and eventually he fell asleep between us.

Are you happy, Amy?

Happier than I've been in a long time.

She was stroking his hair and gazing at him with the most serene look on her face.

He's beautiful. She continued in a whisper. And he's ours, he's properly ours.

He's ours. And I swear I will protect and love you and Anthony and Melody until the end of my days.

I know that. Rory...why the name Vitus? Who did you name him after?

I was quiet for a moment before kissing her and then Anthony.

That's a story for another time. We should write to Melody, I want her to meet her brother as soon as possible.

Amy smiled and then yawned.

You should go to bed. You both sleep and I'll keep watch.

And so I did. I lay awake, too excited to sleep, writing to you as I watch my wife and my son. I want to tell everyone about him but of course I wanted to tell you first. I find myself wanting to write to my dad. I want to tell him that I'm a father to a son, a son to which I gave his name. I'd like him to meet his grandchildren. We have so much in common now, perhaps more than when we were together. I miss him. And he won't be born yet for another 13 years.

Maybe I'll scribble something to him one day.

All my love Doctor,

The Pond Family which is one tiny person larger tonight.

Love,

Rory


	125. October 4, 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of thought it was time for Amy and Rory to figure out what to tell their parents. One of the things I always liked about DW is that despite the fact that the show is about time travel, there's always a sense of urgency. It wouldn't have worked otherwise. If you could always fly away from every problem or just endlessly reverse time and fix it, the show would never succeed. So I love this idea that even though you can run away from time you can never truly outrun it.
> 
> I also imagined that with Anthony now theirs they might both feel a little more grown up, a little more willing to separate from their parents once and for all. Or at least Amy would. I'm leaving the door open for Rory and his Dad for obvious reasons covered in "P.S.". Also as will become clearer the more I go, I'm not covering everyday, every letter, every message or diary entry so just assume the issue of how Amy and Rory's disappearance would be handled has been an ongoing discussion between Melody and her parents, possibly for years. Oh and while I don't think it's ever mentioned on screen, the TARDIS wiki lists Amy's parents names as Tabetha and Augustus Pond and Mels last name was Zucker. Allons-y!

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker:** **Insert** **From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Correspondance from Professor River Song/Melody Pond to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

4th of October 2023

Dear Mum and Dad,

I did something today that I'm not entirely certain you'd approve of...I went to see Tabetha and Augustus, Gran and Gramps. I've never actually met them, not properly...well not as Melody and I thought this would be the perfect time and I suppose the last time for me to do so. Since we all agreed that a car crash would be the easiest explanation and cause the fewest questions that's what I went with.

I know you said I didn't have to do it this way. I know maybe I _shouldn't_   have done it this way. But I needed to. I just thought that even if they didn't know it, this news should be delivered by family.

I knocked on their front door in Leadworth and in borrowed uniform presented myself as Officer Song and...I think they just knew. I saw it cross over their faces, this sort of shadow of grief. I know they wanted me to chase it away. To bring some news, any sort of news that wasn't what they most feared.

I sat them both down and grandad put his arm about gran.

I'm not even sure what I said. I can't quite recall.

There's been an accident...London...rainy...car crash...killed instantly...fire...nearly beyond recognition.

They dissolved into tears after that. They loved you both so much.

I had a friend of mine with connections to actual law enforcement draw up some official papers, pull your dental records as well as supply two comparable bodies should they have wanted to see you both. It proved to be largely unnecessary. They believed me, because why wouldn't they? I promised I'd provide them with cremated remains and they nodded and thanked me. Gran offered me tea. Tea. I think because I looked rather upset. It was a strange intimate moment between the three of us. They hugged me. Can you believe that? They both hugged me and thanked me for coming. They thanked me for telling them.

I always liked them as Mels. Tabetha would make cookies for me. And Augustus always slipped us a bit of money so you and Rory and I could go to the cinema in town. I loved them. I mean I loved my adopted parents, the Zuckers too but...well...

It was hard, but it's done.

I guess that chapter is closed for all of us.

In a way it was like losing them all over again. It was also a bit like losing you...far, far too real for my taste.

Mummy...I'd like to come home now for awhile, please?

Love,

Melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I love writing Melody, I love this weird, confusing balance that she maintains of having known her parents as children and having grown up with them and called them Amy and Rory. I love that she can switch over in her mind and think of them as mum and dad. I always wished that had been explored more in the show. Such a complicated idea for all of them to deal with. Melody and Mels and River are in a way, all separate people with three separate connections to the Ponds that blend into one. I believe Amy and Rory keep their memories of Mels just as separate while still acknowledging all the years they shared together. I think it's kinda fascinating. I vacillate between blaming Moffat and others for sloppy writing to blaming the fact that, as an American, a 13 episode season is half of what I'm accustomed to and half of what is needed in terms of TV shows and space for character development/exploration to just chalking it up to the limitations of media in general. Anyways, Melody is coming home to meet her brother...and maybe Jack. I haven't decided yet...LOL


	126. January 14, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

14th of January 1946

Dear Doctor,

Melody arrived home today and she was a bit shaken up. I think having to, in any way, deal with our deaths again was too much for her. We'd told her she needn't be so intimately involved in the details but...well, you know Melody.

She showed up just after we'd put Anthony down for his afternoon nap and it was good timing because we were able to give her our undivided attention. Amy made tea and we sat in front of the fireplace under one large blanket, our daughter between us and our son sleeping in the next room. It was good to see her. She hadn't been able to come for Christmas and all indications seem to be that we're going to get her for a few days now at least.

I tried to start a letter to my father but so far I've only gotten as far as Dear Dad. Maybe...maybe it's too soon. My words to you, to Amy, to Melody even to Bracewell all came and continue to come so easily. The fact that this is difficult almost makes me suspect it may be the wrong time if not the wrong course of action. But...I don't want him to think I'm dead. Amy and I discussed it and we had different reasons for our different choices. Her parents only had a passing understanding of you. You were her imaginary friend who showed up at our reception...in a fantastical blue spaceship that looked like a 1960's police box. You would think it would have come up in conversation after that. You would think they might have mentioned it. You would think they might have asked Amy and I where we got off to a few hours later when no one could find us as our reception wound down. But they didn't. They never, ever mentioned it. A bit like the time everyone with A positive blood almost killed themselves or the planets in the sky just appeared out of nowhere. No one  _ever_ mentions it. Since it's not collective amnesia, it's a choice, a hard choice but perhaps one of survival and sanity. Amy and I decided it made a good deal more sense to give them a concrete reason we'd never be coming back. Something they could understand and accept. Something that, devastating as it was, would help them sleep at night.

My dad is different though. He's traveled with us. He even traveled alone with you back to Siluria. He understood. He knew what we were doing and he knew why we did it. He'd gotten a taste of adventure and I like to imagine he hasn't stopped since. I suppose I want him to know that we're still on an adventure, just one of a different kind. And that even if we're not traveling with you anymore, we're still living in your name. I just want my dad to know that we're ok.

I held both my girls as they shed a few tears. I would miss my in-laws as well. This did feel as though we were closing the book. Letting go of them as they let go of us. I wonder if we'll speak about them less and less as the years move on. So many goodbyes, Doctor. So many, I fear, still yet to come.

In any case, Melody and Amy are dozing as I write this. Anthony will be up soon. There's a soft blanket of snow falling just outside our window.

I have my children and my wife and everything is alright.

Take care, Doctor. As always, we'll talk later.

Your family loves you.

-The Ponds   


	127. January 16, 1946

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Time Delayed**   
**Personal Correspondence: From Professor River Song/Melody Pond to The Doctor**

**16th of January, 1946**

My love,

I'm spending a few days with mum and dad and my new baby brother. He's wonderful, Doctor. Smart as a whip, sweet and clever and so full of affection. He's a giggly, delightful little dear. I loved him immediately and my parents are head over heels for him. He's going to grow up surrounded by such love.

Darling, do you think we might...? I know we talked about it once, a long time ago. I know you said it wouldn't be wise. I know  _I_ said it wouldn't be smart. But sometimes...

I don't know what I'm saying. I really don't. But in this whole wide universe where anything is possible, couldn't we try? I'm not asking you to stay. I know that wouldn't be fair. I don't know what I'm even asking of myself. I realize this may come as quite a surprise to you considering how adamantly I was against the idea.

We'll talk, I suppose. Or maybe we won't. Maybe I won't even send this.

By the way, I sang him that song you taught me. He already has an affinity for Old High Gallifreyan.

I love you,

River


	128. January 28, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Edwin Bracewell**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

28th of January 1946

Dear Bracey,

Rory, Melody, Anthony and I had our portraits taken last week and while we're always snapping little pictures here and there on our phones and such, this was official. We dressed in our best and had a photographer come over and take about a dozen or so shots which we got back today. There's our little Anthony, isn't he marvelous?

Melody stayed with us an entire week which was like heaven and even though she left she's been popping around more often. Anthony loves her. I left them alone for no more than five minutes the first night she was here and when I came back they were both giggling hysterically. Melody made a comic shushing noise when I entered the room and he seemed happy to be sharing some silly secret with her. Later on that evening he fell asleep in her lap and I heard her humming and singing something soft and unfamiliar in a language I didn't understand...in a language I'm not sure anyone on this planet would understand.

We haven't had him all that long but he's adjusting so well. I think he's just beginning to understand that this is home. As Rory gets back into the swing of things, making rounds and such, Anthony and I have the days to spend together. Yesterday afternoon we took a trip to the nursery and he and I picked out some flowers bulbs and seeds so we can get our garden started when spring comes. For now we planted the flowers inside and Anthony was tremendous help by getting potting soil everywhere including all over his face. I included a picture of that as well. I gave him a good scrub down in the tub and put him in bed for his afternoon nap. He hasn't called me mummy yet. I understand, it'll take time and until then, hugs and kisses and smiles are more than enough.

Your last letter really raised my spirits, Edwin. It sounds as if you're doing better. I do hope so. But just know that no matter what, Dorabella and Rory and I will help see you out from under this cloud no matter how long it takes. I love you, my dear friend and I always will.

You know, I don't wake up afraid anymore, Bracey. There is one shoe that I'm waiting to drop but I try not to think about it. Overall I am blissfully happy.

Take care of yourself and write back soon,

Love,

Amy


	129. April 13, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of April, 1946

Dear Doctor,

Before the Pandorica, before I spent hundreds of years as a soldier in various conflicts, before I had actually left Leadworth much less this planet for any extended period of time, I could barely change a lightbulb. But time and experience and necessity had shaped me into a fairly adept engineer. When we were on the march in Rome I helped assemble fortified stationary camps,  _castra strativa,_ that housed hundreds of men, their gear and their horses and provided ample cover from attacking forces. Some of these standing camps that I oversaw grew and spread and eventually became towns and cities, I broke ground on what would later become Manchester, Lancaster and Ribchester.

I say all this just so you can imagine the withering look I was prepared to give Amy when she asked me,

Can you assemble a swing set?

Amy...I built a monastery practically on my own from the ground up. I drew up plans and oversaw the construction of the Vercovicium, I think I can manage to put together a jungle gym swing.

I glanced up at her from where I was crouched on the ground surrounded by parts and noticed that she was grinning.

You're teasing me.

Anthony and I thought you looked far too serious and that you could use a good laugh. Didn't we, son?

She gave him a little tickle and he laughed in response and said Yes, Mummy.

It's not the first time he's said it, Doctor, but still I watched my wife melt and hold him closer.

So, are you two going to help me or just stand about and watch?

Oh, the master builder needs help does he? Well let's see what we can do.

She set Anthony down and he immediately went about pulling up Dandelions. Amy and I seated ourselves in the lawn and started putting the disparate parts in order.

I think in a way I knew he was there before he even spoke.

Major Williams?

I raised my head and glanced at Amy, her brow was furrowed as she looked toward the gate.

Permission to come aboard.

I got to my feet extending my hand to help Amy to hers, she squeezed it tightly before moving towards Anthony and acting as a barrier between he and Jack.

Permission granted.

I wiped my hands quickly on my jeans and approached him.

I don't know what I was expecting, Doctor. He looked fine. Certainly not the corpse he was the last time I laid eyes on him.

I extended my hand and he shook it.

How's it going, Jack?

Not bad. Surviving. It's a little strange having a conversation with you without bullets whizzing overhead.

I nodded and an awkward silence fell over us, broken only by Anthony's bright and innocent, Hi!

Hi there! He said first addressing Anthony and then Amy. Hello, ma'am.

Amy gave a curt nod and I realized something had to be done or this was going to end in disaster.

Amy, love, would you mind maybe going inside and getting lunch started?

I'm not going to leave you alone with-

I'll be fine. I drew her close to me and gave her a kiss. I promise I'll be fine and we'll be in soon.

She nodded again and picked up our son, heading towards the house only to stop in front of Jack

My husband is the forgiving sort. He gives people chances. That's what makes him a better person than me. You remember that. Because if you hurt him, God help you.

With that she turned on her heel and went inside.

I don't think she likes me very much. He said hooking a thumb in her direction.

Well it did seem as though when we first met you were trying to kill me.

Jack nodded and gave a small smile stuffing his fists into the pockets of his coat.

Care to help me get this up? I asked gesturing towards the swing pieces.

The invitation seemed to relieve him and he brightened.

Yeah, I'd like that.

We started to work in silence at first but it was comfortable.

Your letter was quite a few months back. I never knew when to expect you or even if you were still coming.

Sorry about that. It's not always easy for me to plan trips like this. Time...has a tendency to get away from me.

I do know the feeling.

Rory...I've never met anyone like you before. Or rather I haven't in a very long time.

Still hitting on me, Jack? I teased. You've had a lot of time to come up with a better line than that.

No. I'm serious.

His tone made me glance up at him. His face was worried, tired and remarkably unguarded.

I've been stuck here for  _years_  and I've captured aliens, I've tortured them. I've even executed them. And still I've never just been able to sit down and have a cup of tea and discuss the future. I haven't ever been able to just talk about what it's like.

I'm not an alien, Jack. I'm very much just a human.

I know that but you understand, you've been to the future, you've seen some of the things I've seen. You've met the Doctor...haven't you? I wasn't even sure I should come here. I just need...

I've heard that voice before, Doctor. I've spoken in that voice and I know the need that coats it. I know the heart from which it springs. I knew what he needed and in that moment I wanted to give it to him. I put my hand to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

We'll talk, Jack. Just help me get my sons play set up, ok? Then we'll all go inside, sit down and have a very, very long chat.

I'll give you a rundown of everything a bit later, Doctor. The truth is lunch stretched into dinner and so on and so on and now it's nearing 3AM and there's still so much to talk about. I'm off to bed and I'll write you more tomorrow.

Love,

Rory


	130. April 13, 1946 (II)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Doctor Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

13th of April 1946

Dear Doctor,

We didn't actually get down to a real discussion until after lunch. I poured the three of us a drink from the stash that Winston had sent and we all took rather tense positions in the living room.

How exactly do we begin? I asked.

Well, you could start by telling me a little bit more about the two of you. How long have you worked for UNIT?

No, I don't think so. Amy broke in. We're not simply going to lay all our cards on the table. I think you should tell us who you work for.

I don't work for anybody.

You work for Torchwood.

I freelance. Nothing more.

Alright, who did you work for before that? She pressed.

Jack sighed and downed a mouthful of his drink.

I was a Time Agent.

Amy narrowed her eyes and we shared a glance. Neither of us had heard mention of Time Agents before.

I worked for the Agency and our mission was to change certain events in history, shifting them towards the direction they should have gone in, all without leaving a trace.

I paused for a moment to digest this a bit and I knew Amy was doing the same. A group like that seems absolutely contrary to everything you believed in Doctor. In fact I couldn't believe something like that would be _allowed_   to exist. I suppose it's the kind of thing the Time Lords would have stopped were they still about.

Is that who you were working for when you were sent back here?

No, just like now I was freelance by then. They wiped my memory. A full two years of it. They took a gung ho, bumpkin from Boeshane and treated me like a fool. I believed in what I was doing and they betrayed me. It was the first time that had happened to me but it wouldn't be the last.

Jack took another swig and finished off his drink. I stood, grabbed the bottle and freshened his glass.

So then what?

Then I started operating below the radar of the law. Short cons. Long grifts.

So you're a thief, then? Amy asked and Jack looked affronted.

I am not a thief. I'm a con man, or I was, there's a difference. I only ever took advantage of people's greed. Nothing more. I didn't trick anyone who didn't have it coming.

Spoken like a man of honor. Amy said derisively and I placed my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.

So what changed? I asked him trying to diffuse the situation a bit.

I met the Doctor and a new friend...they showed me a better way. Ok, you've seen my hand. How about some reciprocation?

What do you want to know? I asked.

Who are you both, _really_?

I took a deep breath glanced at Amy again for confirmation that I should begin. After a moment she nodded.

I'm Rory Williams, this is Amelia Pond Williams. I was born in Leadworth, about 3 hours outside of London. Amy was born in Inverness, both of us in 1989. She moved to Leadworth when she was 7. We grew up there, got married and eventually moved to London, I started off as a nurse but I'm a doctor now. Amy is a writer. And...we're native to the year 2023. We never worked for UNIT, in fact we only had one interaction with them. We were visiting Manhattan, investigating disappearances and I was sent back in time by a Weeping Angel and Amy chose to join me.

Jack nodded slowly before speaking.

A lot of gaps in that story, Rory. When did you first meet the Doctor?

I was 19 when I met him.

And I was 7.

Jack turned to her with interest and Amy went on.

He crash landed into my garden. There was a crack in my wall. A big, scary crack with a voice that I could hear coming from inside it. I prayed for a policeman and I got the Doctor instead.

Amy smiled then, softly as she always does when she speaks about you.

I think I wound up with a much better deal.

What was he like?

Mad. Impossible. Funny. I told him that and he seemed pleased and surprised. Funny's good. He said.

I watched Jack's reaction. His brow furrowed a bit as if something wasn't computing.

Funny, was he? Wow...it just never occurred to me that you might have met a different regeneration.

Again Amy and I shared a glance.

I don't think that occured to us either.

But please, go on. I mean I have to assume you didn't travel with him since you were 7.

No...no he was going to come back for me. But the TARDIS...there was a problem and 5 minutes turned into 12 years.

A smug grin crept over Jack's face.

So he abandoned you? That does sound more like him.

He didn't abandon me. He came back when I was 19 and then again when I was 21.

And then?

And then we travelled with him.

Did you...was there a girl with you? A blonde girl named Rose?

No, he never mentioned anyone named Rose. We never met any of the others he traveled with. Did you travel with him?

Yeah, I did, for awhile. The Doctor and Rose they changed my life...they  _saved_ my life. I saw all the amazing things that he could do and that I could do with him. It was incredible. It literally changed where I was headed and what I wanted to do.

So if the Doctor did all that for you then why do you hate him?

I don't hate him...I never said I hate him. I want to slug him. I want answers. I want an apology...but I don't hate him. I am however furious.

Well he's our best friend, he's family. Amy said heatedly. And I won't put up with people running him down.

Easy, Amy. I tried to interject but she'd have none of it.

No, no I will not take it easy. I won't have someone who had one bad experience try and taint who the Doctor is and what he's done. If you have some sort of vendetta against him you can keep it to yourself. And you can also go to hell! I'm going to go check on Anthony.

With that she abruptly got to her feet and began to leave the room.

Amy...I'm sorry. Jack tried to stop her but she was already gone. 

This isn't going the way I imagined. He said. She's taking it pretty hard.

She'll be ok. She just needs to cool off a bit.

Jack settled back into his chair, rubbing his temples for a moment and lest he decide it was all a mistake and leave I decided to speak.

My relationship with the Doctor is different than hers in some ways and it always will be. For hundreds of years I've lived with him in my mind, my heart, I've lived in his shadow. I've faced this perception of him again and again. I've met people who worshipped the Doctor as a god, and i've met those who thought he was the devil himself. The devil of the blue house. The sainted physician. I can handle criticism of him better than she can because I've heard it all. But that doesn't mean I think you're right. But that's ok, you'll learn.

You sound pretty sure of yourself.

Well, I'm a lot older than you. I said with a smile. I know these things.

Will you ever tell me that story?

One day. It's a long one.

What did he mean to you?

What did he mean to  _you_? I countered.

He meant...hope...possibility. He gave me faith in the universe, faith in myself even when I think he was lacking some if not all of those things I just mentioned.

This intrigued me, Doctor. I hope you don't think I was being gossipy but we only knew you as you. You never talked about who you were before, not in any great detail. We never even saw a picture. But I want to know everything about you. I always have. And here was a fount of information sitting before me. I wasn't going to pass it up.

What was his personality like? I asked.

Witty, clever, manic. He could be so happy some times, so positive, but he ran hot and cold. He was also angry...he was capable of terrible, terrible rage. I witnessed it time and time and time again.

What did he dress like? Amy asked. She was standing in the archway and I wasn't sure how long she'd been there.

Leather. He really liked leather. And I personally love a man in leather.

Amy let go with a laugh, one that shocked I think even her and I followed right behind. Imagining you, the you we knew in leather was just beyond funny. Jack didn't seem to understand but he enjoyed us laughing and smiled in return.

When we'd quieted Amy took a deep breath and spoke.

I don't trust you. In fact I may never trust you. But I apologize for being rude. You're a guest in my home and you're someone who saved my husbands life. I owe it to him and frankly I owe it to the Doctor to be courteous.

I'm sorry too. Jack said. I sometimes, on rare occasions speak without thinking. My relationship with the Doctor is complicated...as I'm sure yours is. But I'm willing to do less taking and more listening. The truth is...he left me here with a lot more than he left the two of you and yet you still seem to love him. I'd like to know why.

Amy nodded and I stood up from my chair and drew her into a big hug while whispering into her ear, That's my ginge.

My husband is an excellent judge of character and on this...I guess I'll defer to him. I still don't trust you. She reiterated. And I've still got my eye on you. But...I'm willing to try.

Jack quirked a genuine smile.

You're so... _Scottish_.

Just for a second I saw something flash behind Amy's eyes. She softened. She melted just a touch...as she always does, as _we_ always do when someone strokes the chord of a memory of you.

She nodded and and we resumed our places before she spoke again.

Now, tell me more about this mad, angry, clever Doctor who decked himself in leather.

Ok. That's all for now, love. It's very late or rather early depending on how you look at it. Jack is in the guest room and I imagine they'll be much more to tell you over the next few days.

I do wish we could get your side in all this...but it's nice hearing about another you that we'll never have the pleasure of knowing.

Love,

Rory

 


	131. April 14, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Professor River Song to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Dear Mum and Dad,

I popped by this evening for a visit to see you both and my little brother. I didn't realize it was so late and found you three already in bed. But imagine my surprise when I discovered a strange man sleeping in the spare bedroom next to mine. Of course I pulled my gun on him. But it's alright. He woke up, switched on a light and I saw who he was.

That's when I pulled a second gun on him.

We chatted for awhile, exchanging pleasantries and then agreed to head out for a pint or three. I'm still going to keep my weapon trained on him.

We'll be back soon... _ish_.

Love you,

Melody

 


	132. April 15, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of April 1946

Dear Doctor,

First of all. Nothing happened. I know this because I had a long talk with Melody. A very, very long talk. So I just wanted to get that out of the way straight off.

Melody and Jack arrived back around lunch and I greeted her with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

And what sort of time do you call this? I asked.

I...didn't you get my note? She asked hesitantly.

No worries, Amy she's back, safe and sound. We did have a bit of a run-in with a few Judoon, luckily we're both fluent and a couple of well told jokes diffused the situation. Jack started to laugh. Blo-mo-ko-jo-no-ro!

That was particularly cheeky one wasn't it? She agreed with a chuckle of her own.

Where did you both go? Rory asked testily.

A little dive pub in the 40th century. This one kept trying to slip my vortex manipulator off. She said raising an eyebrow at Jack.

That had better be all he was trying to slip off. You. Kitchen. Now. I said pointing at my daughter and stepping back until she walked ahead of me albeit reluctantly.

Mum, what-

Do I really have to tell you this? Don't you recall anything from the long conversations I had with Mels?

Well I may not remember word for word but I do recall you and Mels and those three blokes in the back of a camper van at the Glastonbury Festival in 2007. She said with a smirk that was a little too self satisfied for my taste.

Is that the time you both came back with the flu? Rory asked having suddenly appeared behind me. You told me you went to visit your gran that weekend, that you'd both caught a bug working outside on her farm.

I blushed red before answering him. Rory, it hardly matters now. And we didn't really do anything.

 _You_ didn't. She said pointedly.

This is not about me. You are not to go off with strange men! Especially men like him.

Listen to you. It's fine. It was all fine. We had a few drinks, a bit of fun, it was no big deal.

It isn't fine. You don't even know him! I don't want my daughter running off in the middle of the night with an unsavory character.

Mother, I'm a grown woman-

A grown  _married_  woman if memory serves. And I don't care how old you are, little madam, if you're under our roof, you abide by our rules..

Oh for heavens sake, it's not like I shagged him. And even if I had... She stopped short and sighed. It's not as if the Doctor and I have  _that_ kind of relationship.

I narrowed my eyes. What do you mean  _that_  kind of relationship?

Mum...I think you know. If you think for one moment he hasn't got a bit of a wandering eye and that those clumsy hands don't occasionally go  _exploring_  well...ask Clara.

My dear son-in-law, let me interject here and just say that you had best keep your hands, your lips and everything else to yourself. I know your weakness for pretty young maids but you're a married man and when you marry into this family you become a Pond. And Ponds are faithful. Do the two of you ever even talk? And I mean really talk not just trade banter and quips. I feel as though I'm forever writing to you and talking to her about how much you love one another. But I wonder if it ever gets said without me. I know...I know you lie. For our good. For your sanity. I know you may have had a perfectly good reasons for fabricating the notion that she used all her regenerations to save you from the Judas Tree poison. At least, I hope you did. I _hope_ that was a clever lie. Long, long after we're gone I hope the two of you are traveling together. It seems to me as though you were made for one another. And even if I'm wrong...even if she gave up her essential immortality to save you, then that's all the more reason to love her, to be at her side, to never give her reason to doubt you.

Not to mention the fact that I _do_   know him. Melody continued. He stole a ship from me.

When?

When...I...I don't know, mum. With time travel who can tell? I had a ship and he nicked it. Said he'd be back in five minutes. You've heard that one before haven't you?

Melody...I just want you to be careful, love. Alright?

You know I get very uncomfortable when you go all parental.

Well learn to live with discomfort. I'm your mum and I'm feeling extra mum-ish especially because of Anthony. I don't trust Jack Harkness.

You're embarrassing me!

You do not run off with strange men to alien pubs, is that clear. Rory said with stern finality.

Dad he's your mate! She protested.

Yes and for some reason or other you felt compelled to draw not one but two weapons on him. I think that's reason enough for you to keep your distance.

She sighed realizing we had her there.

Alright. Alright. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.

Of course it will. Rory said bringing her in for a hug. Just try to make sure we're none the wiser. Your old parents like being in the dark. He teased.

You're not old, stop saying that! She insisted as she rested against him. By the way, I didn't tell him who you were to me. I can't wait to see the look on his face.

I opened my arms to her so that I could embrace her too.

You're going to be the death of me, you know that? I whispered in her ear.

Her grip around me tightened and she whispered in reply. You know...I really do like it when you get all parental. It make me feel...

She trailed off but I just held her and nodded.

I know, baby. I know.

We three left the kitchen and met a bewildered Jack who was on the verge of a slew of apologies though he didn't quite seem to know what for.

Rory, I'm sorry, Amy, I didn't mean to just abscond with your sister like that. Or... _your_   sister Rory. Or-

Rory stopped him and said everything was fine now and it would probably be best to just have lunch.

Once we were seated and eating and as Anthony happily tossed most of his food to Spartacus, Rory spoke again.

So, though I shudder to think, how did you think you two first met, Jack?

First meeting...that's a bit of a tricky question with time travelers isn't it? Jack asked with a mischievous smile.

Well, we last met a few weeks ago. Melody began. In my past, your future, you're someone I'd trust with my life. You're actually a dear friend.

Her gaze softened as she look at him and I wondered, from her end, what they'd shared.

The last time I saw you, She continued. You put your arm around me and told me everything was going to be ok. You even said you would do it if that would help. You said, after everything, after all they'd done for you that it would be your honor. You called it a final duty for dear, dear friends and then you corrected yourself and said family. An honor and privilege to do this for family. I told you no, that it was up to me. But it was so kind of you to offer. But then again that's the Jack I know. There's precious few people I trust more.

That doesn't sound like me. Jack said quietly. I said all that?

Melody only smiled.

Not yet. But you will have done.

Just  _who_ are you? He asked a bit incredulously.

That is a question that has so many answers. She said with that laugh of hers. You can call me River Song.

Quirking an eyebrow she gestured at Rory and I.

My parents call me Melody. But, since you are one of my Dad's dear mates, practically like a brother to him, fancy I call you Uncle Jack?

Oh Doctor...your wife, our daughter is a caution. I'll write you a bit more later, perhaps after we help Jack collect his jaw from off the floor. And to think, he doesn't even know the half of it.

Love across the stars,

Amy

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just to clarify, I mentioned a few chapters back that Melody got a friend with police connections to get her a uniform so she could deliver the news to Amy's parents. The friend and the connection are Jack and Gwen respectively. Like I said, I've been watching and enjoying Torchwood, I'm about 5, maybe 7 episodes in. And in that vein, am I allowed to hate Owen? Because I really hate Owen.
> 
> Also, I realize that certain things were established in "The Name of The Doctor". Things about Clara and River and blah blah blah. But I'd already said before TNOTD aired that River had met Clara and at this point do I really seem like someone who's rooted to canon? So basically, don't worry about it, we're taking an AU detour.
> 
> Wall With A Fez (and a few others) were kind enough to tell me something I'd never heard mentioned before. You know the Chula ship that Jack says he stole in The Impossible Child?
> 
> DOCTOR: You can spend ten minutes overriding your own protocols? Maybe you should remember whose ship it is.   
> JACK: Oh, I do. She was gorgeous. Like I told her, be back in five minutes. 
> 
> Well apparently Moffat said in an interview that he probably stole it from River! So yay, I didn't know this but I think it's pretty neat, so, head canon accepted. That's how they met! Thanks Wall! :)


	133. April 16, 1946

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

16th of April, 1946

Dear Doctor,

It's funny, with all of us there, it was almost as if the puzzle of you was complete. Not the whole puzzle of course but all these little bits and pieces, stories and anecdotes. Remember what I said to you before we left that factory of gangers. No. Of course you don't remember. You were a ganger then and technically so was I. Well, I'll tell you now. I hugged you as tight as I could and I said; I never thought it possible. You're twice the man I thought you were. I now realize my estimates were off by even more than I could have imagined.

It gladdens my heart to talk about you, to laugh with friends and family and discuss you as freely as if you were sitting next to us. We're all still cagey. I think we learned from you to play certain things close to the vest. There's nothing wrong with having a few secrets. But still, even with lips tightly sealed, we were all having a marvelous time remembering our Doctor. But it also makes the loss of you that much more acute.

Jack is loosening up. I can see him trying. I can feel it but it isn't easy for him.

I know his anger, Doctor. The anger of being left, feeling you were abandoned. Feeling for how one moment you were the most important person in the world and then to have that ripped away.

I think we were all competing a bit, trying to tell the most outrageous story about you that we can think of and believe me there are plenty to choose from. We took turns, everybody relating a tale that no one else knew. I had no idea you and Rory got up to so many adventures while I was sleeping! Tonight I felt almost like we conjuring you up, like if we just kept talking you might appear. Were your ears burning, my love?

Then, the mood all changed.

No.

Melody's answer was brusque and short and so cold it took us all a bit off guard.

Why not? Jack asked. My God, I didn't even finish my sentence.

Because they're safe now. Because the one good thing that ever came out of this is that they're safe and I won't have you muck this up, Jack.

I think you're overreacting, River.

And I think you're _under_ -reacting, Jack.

Shouldn't we let them decide? I thought  _they_ were the parents.

They are, but that doesn't mean it isn't my job to look after them and care for them and protect them and keep them as far away from that life as I possibly can.

You act as though I don't know what's coming.

And you act just as arrogant and pigheaded as I remember. The Doctor didn't ever,  _ever_ want them to have to face things like that again. This wasn't how either of us planned it but we took some solace in knowing that Mum and Dad would be safe. That they'd be able to live out normal lives without alien incursions and-

Without alien incursions? You must be kidding. Do you know what happens next year?

What happens next year? I asked.

Roswell. They said in unison before continuing their argument.

You know it doesn't stop with Roswell. The next twenty years alone are going to be-

Their happy years. Their safe years. Our daughter said definitively. Those are going to be the years they spend watching their son grow. They will never be in danger ever again.

Hang on a moment- Rory said but Melody interrupted him.

Dad-

Melody. He said softly. That was all, just her name. But it was filled with such quiet, parental authority she immediately hushed.

Now, Jack... He began. What was it your were about to say?

The truth is... I think we both already knew.

Jack leaned forward and looked at us as Melody sat back in her chair fuming.

Ever since I got here I've been thinking...no, no that's not exactly true. I was considering it even before that but now that I'm here, that I've seen you two together and I know the things you've done, I know it's right. How would you feel about heading up your own American branch, loosely affiliated, otherwise autonomous, I'd consult but you'd be in charge. What I'm asking is...Amy, Rory, how would you feel about working for Torchwood?


	134. July 1946 & October 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

9th of July, 1946

Dear Dad,

This is the difficult bit. If I've got this right, you're reading this letter a week after we left in the TARDIS. The thing is, we're not coming back. We're alive and well and stuck, in New York, fifty years before I was born. We can't come home again. I won't ever see you again, and that breaks my heart. I'm so sorry, Dad. I thought about this for years and I realized there was one thing I could do. I could write to you, tell you everything. About how we lived and, despite it all, we were happy; but before we do, I need you to know. You are the best dad any son could have, and for all the times I drove you mad and you drove me mad, all the times I snapped at you. I'm sorry. I miss everything about you, especially our awkward hugs. I bought a trowel, we have a small yard, I garden; but one more important bit of business. The man whom delivered the letter, Anthony, be nice to him, cause he's your grandson. We finally adopted in 1946, Anthony Brian Williams. He can tell you everything, he'll have the family albums, and I realize having a grandson who is older than you is so far beyond weird, but I'm sorry. I love you dad. I miss you.

So...where do we begin...?

...

21 of October 1954

Dear Dad,

This first letter to you I penned so many years ago. I wrote it and then I stopped. I didn't know what else to say or how to say it. I tore it from my notebook and shoved it into a drawer. I didn't touch it, didn't even look at it because going back to it felt too much like saying goodbye to you. Until I realized, one day, it didn't have to be goodbye, it could be hello. I could write to you too. I could talk to you like you were here and though we can't answer each other at least we'll still have this, you and I and Anthony. Three generations of Williams men. Now I figure, why not just start at the beginning. So, here I am, picking up my pencil again not quite ten years later.

The year is 1954. I am 48 years old. I am father to five children. Melody, our oldest who, by my counting is 27, Anthony who is 10, Victoria who is 6, Adora who died before she drew breath and Vitus, my eldest son who lived a long, full life. Next year Amy and I will celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. Of course she's been in my life and my heart since I was 7 so in my opinion we're going on 41 years together. And it's been 15 years since I last saw you.

15 years. I never imagined something like this might actually happen, Dad. Which was really silly on my part I suppose. I never imagined that the last time I stepped into the TARDIS would be the last I'd ever see of you. Still, I don't regret it and I don't regret your advice. The truth is that it would have taken something as drastic as what did happen to us to pry us from the Doctor. We talked a good game. And we weren't lying. It did feel like running. But other times running wasn't so bad. To this day, nothing save the voices of my wife and my children thrills me quite like the wheeze of the TARDIS. I never got to tell you, Dad...all the places he took us, the things we saw. Amazing doesn't even cover it. And there are other things. Things I'll get to in the letters that follow.

In the meantime, Amy and I did not die in a car crash. I'm trying to time this correctly, hopefully well before Tabitha and Augustus come beating on your door with the unfortunate news of our passing. They're not like you, Dad. They never knew or understood. They never had an inkling of what our lives were like, so, sadly, we had to bring our lives to an end for them and for others who may have been waiting a long, long time, bewildered and hurt when no trace of us ever appeared. Go to our funeral but know that we live through these letters. Then come back home and talk to my son, he'll tell you everything. He'll have grown up knowing you and loving you long before the two of you met. The Anthony that stands before you must be...goodness...79 years old. The one playing at my feet now hasn't even lost all his baby teeth yet. You'll be 64. And I...well Dad, I'll have been long gone, I don't know when or what age. I think Amy does but she won't tell me. I've seen where I'm buried. A nice little place in Brooklyn, quiet and well maintained. Melody has a saying that all time travelers have crossed over their grave at least once. I don't mind that, in a way it's a relief. I'm alright with endings, unlike my best mate.

But more about the Doctor later.

You told me a story once that your parents met after a Gloucester City match, they'd just lost to Worcester. Your father told you it was October and it was drizzling and gran didn't have an umbrella and he offered her his. For me, that's today, Dad. Right now, as I'm writing this, your parents, my grandparents are meeting for the very first time just off to the side of a football pitch, in the rain. You'll be born 5 years from now and I'll be 53.

I love you, Dad, we'll talk soon.

Your son,

Rory

 


	135. November 7, 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of November 1954

Dear Dad,

Though I've had many years to adjust and though many more lie ahead, I think I we'll always feel a bit detached from this age. Make no mistake we are invested. We live it, we breathe it, we are viscerally affected by it. It's a home but not  _our_ home. Before and during the war we were so distracted. The rationing, the constant news reports, the draft, the fighting, the fear of dying. But now, as we're in this slow lull, it's harder to ignore how much we don't quite fit. How, despite how good we are at pretending, in some ways we aren't ourselves until we step through the door to our home. We slip out of our clothes and into our ratty sweats and we become us again.

We have friends but there are only a precious few we don't keep at a distance. Our ideas, our politics are considered more than a bit radical in this day and age. We don't silence our views and as Amy says we're just waiting to get called before the HUAC any day now. It's a joke but an uneasy one. If we were to get singled out...the results could be disastrous, perhaps fatal. If the worst did happen our contingency plan is that we'd give the children to Melody. She could raise her brother and sister in the future, on some distant planet wherever and whenever she liked. Even on the TARDIS if she and the Doctor saw fit. On certain days, dark days I wonder if that might not be how this all ends.

Anyway, some nights we spend a good deal of time after the children have gone to bed with our more likeminded friends. Raphael Soyer and his brothers. We've had Allen Ginsberg and his partner over a handful of times. They think Amy is mad in the most delightful way and half of the time can't quite believe the things that come from her mouth. I agree with them on all counts. I feel comfortable with our small circle of mates, we can't of course tell them the truth of who we are but we can be a little more 21st century around them.

I never really fancied myself a radical, just an ordinary bloke, but here in 1954 my concepts regarding equality, women, race etc. make me rather cutting edge. Some even think adopting Victoria was revolutionary. The truth is, we just fell in love with her on sight. This tiny little girl from the same orphanage where we adopted Anthony. Amy and I wanted to take home the very day we saw her.

Race...race may be the biggest issues on which I can't keep silent. I lost a few patients early on because they didn't like that my practice was integrated. But that was their problem and not mine. I think I've even become extra sensitive because of Victoria. When we go out with her there are the stares, the comments, sometimes more, sometimes worse. It's not something I ever imagined living but it's happening. Just two weeks ago I may have broken a mans jaw. I'm fairly certain I did. I'm familiar with that crunch, the way the bone feels when it gives beneath your knuckles. He called her...well he called her something vile and ugly. I didn't think. I was beyond thinking. I calmly placed my daughters hand in Amy's, motioned them back, grabbed him by the collar and slugged him. He went down onto the pavement looking positively mystified. At that moment I longed for my  _spatha_ , a 3 foot long broadsword that I had become so adept at using all those years ago. I could make a mans shoulders lonesome for his head with one strike and never break my horses stride. But in any case, Amy had shouted my name to stop, Vicki was crying and Anthony had this terrible little worried look on his face. I released the man's collar which I'd grabbed in preparation for hitting him again. I leaned down and whispered something to him that I wouldn't tell Amy no matter how many times she asked me later. But I'll tell you.

_You can go to the police. You can tell them everything that happened. But before they ever get to me, I'll get to you. I want you to know that and understand just what that means for you. I want you to understand that this isn't even me angry. This is only me slightly upset. Consider that. Now apologize to my wife and children for frightening them. Then you apologize to my daughter especially and don't ever call anyone, much less a child, that word again._

He did as I commanded and scampered off. Amy chastised me lightly but I knew she was proud. Anthony grabbed for my hand and Vickie wanted to be picked up and subsequently wrapped her arms around my neck uttering only a soft, Daddy. I stroked her hair and assured her, assured all of them everything would be alright. We were on our way to Greenwich Village to have lunch and once there I looked at both my children seriously. I told them that I would never, ever let either of them come to harm. Not ever. I would defend them and protect them for as long as I drew breath. They nodded solemnly, I told them Daddy loves you and we went on with our day.

My office is close enough to home that I usually walk to work. I also operate a free clinic on the weekends and I'm happy to do house calls. Little Italy, Harlem, the East village...wherever I'm needed, wherever I can lend a hand. I'm just trying to be useful, Dad. I think that would make you proud. I think maybe you always thought I was a little... weak, perhaps. But I'm not the man you knew, Dad. I haven't been for a very long time. I feel as though we were on the verge of something wonderful before I left. I feel like we had a bit of a breakthrough after the incident with the dinosaurs. I felt as though maybe we were starting to understand each other. And then...well we just didn't get to finish mending things.

I wanted to tell you, you were a good father to me. Even though we may have clashed at times, you were always a good dad. I'm trying to be a good dad, myself. So much has happened. So much I didn't tell you. I'll get to all that in the letters that follow.

Part of me wants to start with Vitus, my eldest, my first son whom I miss every day but that would lead into an even longer story. So I suppose come the next letter I'll start with River Song...Melody Williams...Mels. A superhero. My daughter. One of the best mates I've ever had.

Until next time, Dad.

Love, Rory

_Filius est pars patris._


	136. November 12, 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12th of November 1954

Dear Doctor,

Well that's it then. Another Cordelia Puddle story sent off.

I've been spending so much of my time writing letters to other people I feel as though I've been neglecting you and I'd hate to do that. I'd never do that.

Martin forwards all of my fan mail here and it arrives in the most exhausting of piles. I can't complain though. It's wonderful to think I've touched so many people, especially all the little girls. Anthony helps me sort them though he'd rather be out playing stickball, but that's what one would expect of a little boy. Victoria still wants to be mummy's little helper so she's always happy to lend a hand. I have her read some of the letters from the little girls just like her aloud to me and we answer them together. It's great fun!

I'm taking her with me on my series of speaking engagements. Of course I refuse to set foot in any place that's segregated. It the first question I have Martin ask when he fields a call or letter. If it's a non integrated venue he simply says;

_Mrs. Pond Williams thanks you for your interest but she has a strict policy against performing at segregated venues. Mrs. Pond-Williams is a staunch supporter of the rights of the Negro as well as all minorities. She encourages you to examine your hearts and if need be, flog your intellect. Should your opinions change in the future, she would be happy to perform a reading of The Adventures of Cordelia Puddle. Little Miss Puddle and the Doctor are for everyone and will remain so. At this time she must decline your request._

Actually on my next trip I think I'm taking both Victoria and Melody along. You know how close those two are. She looks up to her just like I did. Just like I  _do_. Sometimes I walk into a room and they'll just be giggling with each other. Other times they'll be talking so earnestly and seriously I can scarcely imagine what they're discussing. And sometimes, they're just sitting quietly and Melody is holding her in her lap. She loves Vickie so much. Doctor, I... You should just consider it, that's all. You're only punishing the both of you.

I don't want to expose my daughter to what's coming. But it's such a fine line. On one hand I don't want her to be unaware of the Civil Rights movement. But on the other, she's my baby. She still believes in Santa Claus. We're three years from the Little Rock Nine. Nine years from the church bombing. The boycotts, the police dogs, the fire hoses. This country is going to roiling and will be at least until '68. That's 14 years from now. What do we do, Doctor? Rory and I are at a bit of a loss. We couldn't bear it if she got hurt. We want her to understand the time she's living in because of everything that lies ahead but we also want to shield her from it. What would you do, Doctor? If you knew something huge and terrible and dangerous was coming for your children, something that they might very well survive unscathed but not unscarred, would you protect them. Would you spirit them away? If you had seen the Time War coming down the pipeline would you taken your family into the TARDIS? Would you all have run?

They just segregated the schools 7 months ago. She's supposed to start first grade but I think we've decided to homeschool at least for awhile. We've thought about possibly sending her away to boarding school in Europe when she's older, Anthony too, but we're not sure we could stand to be parted from them.

We haven't had the big time travel discussion with either one of them but it is coming. We've had years and we're still not sure what we're going to say.

And despite it all, I've never been happier. I have three beautiful children, a husband who's home every night and a successful writing career. And I have you, my best friend. I'm trying to keep that in focus and in frame.

Love across the stars Doctor,

Your family,

The Ponds

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooong winded author's note:
> 
> Ok, I may be about to blow your mind here because honestly it's not something I'd ever really thought about before. I'm sure as you've figured out by now Victoria is black. That's not the mind-blowing part. Consider this, as wacky as it may sound, Melody from regeneration as a "toddler in New York" (which would have to be in 1989-90 given that she's the same age as Rory and Amy) to 2011 she actually lived 22 years as a black girl/woman. That's time enough to know and understand things about race and fitting in that Amy may not.
> 
> She was also raised by the Zuckers. That name originates from medieval Austria back when it was occupied by the Celts. Give this my personal headcanon asserts that at least one and possibly both of Mels adoptive parents were Caucasian. Again offering her a unique perspective that she could pass down to her little sister. I think she'd have a lot to tell Victoria and I think they'd have a unique bond.
> 
> River was always more aware than the Doctor of the little social things that were going on in a particular time with a particular people. To put it another way, if the Doctor was the Cliffs Notes, River was the actual text. She just wouldn't be as flip as he was. Remember when he tells Martha in 1599 England to "just walk around like you own the place."?
> 
> I love 10. I love him. But Martha had every right to be worried and he just blows it off. The slave trade was in full effect, Spain and Portugal were shipping African slaves to America and black slaves had been present in London since the early 1500's. He's an alien, I get it, and I will defend his "other-ness" until the end of time. But that blase remark was fucking tone deaf. And I just think in contrast River is the opposite of this. Her clothes, her demeanor, everything always matches the time she's in perfectly. She's not the anachronistic sore thumb that the Doctor tends to be. I suppose I'd expect nothing less of an archeologist but I love that about her.
> 
> I did a bit of research because I didn't want to throw something into the story that was just too unlikely. Transracial adoption, did actually happen in the 40's and 50's. It was by no means common, was often discouraged by social workers and was seen as quite a revolutionary practice but it did happen. People like Pearl S. Buck and Helen Doss lead the way. Amy and Rory are my favorite revolutionaries, they lead by example.


	137. November 24, 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of November, 1954

Dear Dad,

Remember that time Mum took ill in the middle of the night...what am I saying, of course you do. Anyway, Amy and Mels were sleeping over. You didn't want to leave us alone but you had to get her to hospital right away. We all agreed to be good and on our best behavior and you did the only thing you could, you left three ten years olds alone to go and tend to your wife.

I started crying not too long after you left. I tried to hold it together in front of you. I  _always_ tried to hold it together in front of you but once you were gone, I lost it. I kind of crumpled up in my bed and pulled the covers over my head. I never liked the girls seeing me upset. But Amy would have none of it.

It's ok, Rory, you can cry. This is scary.

Yeah. Mels chimed in. You can always cry with us. We won't tell.

And I'd punch anyone who laughed at you.

Me too!

They gently pried the covers out of my hands and slid underneath the blanket with me. One on either side. And just like that I felt a bit better.

Amy was always there for me, you know that, but so was Mels. In all these extraordinary, quiet, compassionate little ways, she was always there. It was hard growing up, Dad, especially after Mum died. I felt so incredibly alone a lot of the time. Only now, as an adult can I fathom what you were going through. The times I lost Amy it was as if someone had excised my soul from my body. I was alive but not really living. I was hollowed out, empty and cavernous like a drum. I only imagine that's what you felt. But for a little kid, it was lonely. My only escape was Amy's house and my two girls.

Not all of my interactions with Mels took place with Amy there though. Sometimes we would just have time alone to ourselves, just the two of us. One evening, we were both 16 and while Amy was out with Jeff or Rob or Mike or some other bloke that made me seethe, Mels and I went to the cinema to take in a double feature. Afterwards we stopped by an ice cream shoppe, my treat.

Do you ever think about the future, Rory?

What do you mean? Like my future or the future-future?

Either one. What are your plans?

You know, A Levels, uni, nursing school, find a good position probably at Leadworth Hospital, settle down-

With Amy?

I think at that point I sputtered as opposed to actually saying any words.

You're going to get her, you know? She said seriously. At this point I have very little doubt of that fact.

You're crazy. I said for once letting the truth fall from my lips. She doesn't even see me, at least not like that. Maybe she never will. What about you?

She'd given me an odd smile then.

Oh, I've got a man out there waiting for me. And when we meet...it's going to change the universe.

Is that so? I said throwing an arm around her and pulling her close. Well, you realize he's going to have to meet with my approval first.

She brightened, I mean Dad she practically lit up.

Will he?

Of course. Do you really think I'd let just anyone run off with my girl?

Mr. Perfect. She said, softly. But Rory...what if you were meant for something bigger. Something you couldn't even imagine now?

Who me? No thanks, Leadworth is just fine by me. If I even go past the city limits I get nervous. I was made for the quiet life.

You might be surprised. She said cryptically.

I kissed the top of her and then playfully put a bit of vanilla ice cream on her nose.

You go have adventures for me, love, ok?

I know you thought Mels was trouble, Dad and she was, she could be. But she was also like a sister to me...a little sister that I fought fiercely to take care of and protect. I'm glad you never tried to stand in the way of our friendship. Almost as glad I am that there was never even a shadow of attraction between she and I. Thank God and all his angels for that.

It wouldn't be until years later when I finally understood why I felt so strongly about her.

I was there when she died. I know, you believed it was a car accident. That was what Amy and I came up with because we had to think of something. The Doctor helped us with it because we couldn't very well say she'd been shot by a stray bullet intended for an SS-Oberstgruppenführer fired by Hitler himself. Yeah...Mels was shot by Hitler and yes, this time wasn't the first time I've been in the 30's. Not even the second.

In any case, I stooped there, holding the hand of my best friend as she succumbed to internal bleeding in the Reich Chancellery. Amy was there too, we were each touching her, trying to comfort her as best we could. But I already knew it was too late. There was nothing I could do. There have only been a few times in my life when I felt that helpless. By the force of the bleeding I knew the bullet had pierced vital organs, more than likely her aorta. All we could do was be there for her so she wouldn't die alone.

And then the Doctor told us to get back.

The next part is hard to explain, Dad. I'm not sure how much the Doctor told you. He has a habit of leaving out vital information, especially if he gets distracted. He's over 1200 years old. He's an alien. When his body is mortally injured his cells commence a process whereby his entire being regenerates. It's not so different as you and I growing new skin if we're burned or a starfish growing a new appendage. Did you know there's not a molecule in your body that is the same as it was seven years ago? We're all regenerating everyday, copying ourselves as best we can. The difference is that the Doctor does it all at once...and he changes his appearance when it happens _and_ his entire personality.

Still with me? Good.

I bring this up because, before our eyes, Mels started to regenerate, just like the Doctor. When it was all said and done she had transformed into a woman we all knew very well, a woman we'd met before, a woman named River Song. She also went by another name, Dad, Melody Pond.

Here's the complicated bit but I'll try and explain it as best I can. Our first child together was conceived on our honeymoon, aboard the TARDIS in the middle of the Time Vortex. You don't have to know what that is, all you need know is that it changed her and she became as much like the Doctor genetically as she was like us. Forgive me, Dad but this next bit needs to be condensed for clarity. After Amy gave birth, Melody was taken from us. She was kidnapped. We never got to raise her. Never saw her first steps or heard her first words. We were robbed of every single formative moment with our child and we never ever saw that baby again.

But...all wasn't lost and in the middle of our tragedy there was a miracle. We found our child, all grown up and in the body of a woman we knew and loved and respected. Time is strange like that, Dad. It takes away things and sometimes you never get them back. But sometimes, if you're lucky it returns them to you in the strangest of packages. Melody's timeline has never quite run in sync with ours, there have been occasions where she's had to pretend she didn't know us. Times where she had to keep a tremendous secret from us. But once I knew, once I understood who she was to Amy and I, it all made sense. The way we'd cared for her as Mels, the way we'd lectured and worried. She was our daughter, flesh of our flesh, the first and best thing that we ever made together. But we still couldn't keep her. We met her again, as a little girl in 1969 and after that in a way we don't fully understand she made it to Leadworth twenty years later and she was Mels.

God...rereading this, Dad, it looks and sounds mad. But I imagine after some of what you've seen you're willing to grant me a little latitude.

I've included a picture, this is her, this is our beautiful daughter of whom we are so proud. She's not stuck here with us. But she does come to visit from time to time. We couldn't have made it the first few years here without her help. She is amazing. Brilliant, lovely, clever, just like her mum. Perhaps I should also mention she's the Doctor's wife. She wasn't kidding when she said that when she met her man the whole universe would change. She wanted to add a little something of her own when I told her I was writing to you. So stay tuned for a letter from her as well.

And if someday a beautiful woman shows up on your doorstep with wild hair and a knowing smile, give her a hug and tell your granddaughter how much you love her.

I should go. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which we've become very, very fond of celebrating, by the way. Later this evening Anthony's class is putting on a little play. He's the turkey! His only line is Gobble, Gobble! I'm Tom the Turkey! You should eat me! Amy and I are just so proud of him we could bust. I'll send along a picture next time.

I love you, Dad.

Rory

_Filius est pars patris._


	138. December 9, 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

9th of December 1954

Dear Doctor,

Sorry I've been away for awhile but something... _remarkable_ happened.

You know how I was struggling with that other story I was working on, Summer Falls? I was about ready to give up on it. It just wasn't remotely working and a part of me thought it had been a mistake to stray from the Cordelia Puddle stories.

A week or so ago I had a breakthrough. I realized what was missing. It just dropped into my lap out of the blue and I've been writing like mad ever since. It was a wonderful and surprising gift from my son. One he didn't even know he was giving. I wrote down every word he said and I put it on a special page in my diary. One day, I'll let you see it.

And there were other things, empty spaces that needed to be filled in just came to me all in a rush that for a minute or so left me rather woozy. But then, I started typing and I could barely stop. That crack in my wall, Doctor from all those years ago...you said once I had time pouring into my head for years. Is that still there? Because some of the things I saw...

Well, I don't think it matters. What does matter is that I'm finished.

I think I finally have my ending.

And it all happened because of you.

Except I can't tell you now.

And to think, I figured all the secrets between you and I had been revealed. But it seems, unless I'm wrong...no, I know I'm not wrong, there's at least one more. And this time I've got it over you. Don't think that doesn't give me a wee bit of joy.

But seriously...The moment I typed the last words of that tale, I missed you. Acutely.

One day, you'll understand why.

All my love,

Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I'm not a fan of Clara. In fact I rather actively dislike her storyline. So despite changes made in the recent (October) re-release of Summer Falls via Amy's new introduction, she will not be making an appearance in this story. I will not negate Amy and Rory's sacrifices and screw around with their timeline so as to serve as a vehicle for "The Impossible Girl". That being said I really am happy for the people who enjoy her as well as for the Whouffle shippers and I would never purposefully be rude about about the character. She's just not my cup of tea. That just my opinion though.
> 
> Now, back to the issue at hand. Amy has a secret but neither you guys nor the Doctor are going to find out what it is until the very end of the story but when it does happen, I think you'll like it. :)


	139. December 24, 1954

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of December 1954

Dear Doctor,

It's become tradition that every Christmas Eve we return to Greystark with presents and food and treats for all the children. We spend most of the day and evening with them, playing games, drawing and painting pictures and having fun in the snow. Anthony and Vickie love to run and scream and romp about and it gives Rory and Mrs. Evans and I time to set up the Christmas tree and arrange a few presents. We have dinner and dessert and pass out Santa Claus hats. We take pictures and then get all the slightly boring gifts out of the way. You know, trousers and coats and hats and underthings. We don't plant all the good things from Santa under the tree until they've gone to bed. Rory was, as always a tremendous hit and like every year the chorus of, Tell us a story, Rory! rose to such a height that finally he couldn't ignore it. I admit that perhaps I even joined in.

That husband of mine, Doctor...I'll never know everything he lived through but every time I hear something new I love him even more if that's possible.

You two are so alike, you have no idea. It only makes sense that I'd fall for your both.

We came home and put our exhausted children to bed then we pulled out the laptop went to Youtube and listened to the Queen's address. We're not exactly monarchists, but again, just another little tradition that reminds us of home.

I've had all my wishes come true this year, all except the one I can't ever seem to get. So...I'll just tell you what I tell you every year, like a child tells Santa.

Come home for Christmas, Doctor. There's a place set for you. There'll be fish fingers and custard and jammie dodgers and turkey. Your wife, your brother and sister in law who you've never met. Bracey and Dorabella, an aging Spartacus, more presents than you could shake a stick at at. And of course, us. Your Amy and Rory who realized long ago that moving on and waiting are not mutually exclusive.

We've moved on, Doctor and we are forever waiting.. we'll always wait for you.

I remember how much you love Christmas.

Please come home...

I know you can't but just for a moment, just you and I, lets pretend.

Merry Christmas, darling.

-Your loving family

The Ponds


	140. Chapter 140

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**The Red Hats**

_As Told By Rory Williams_

_Transcribed By Amelia Pond Williams_

Once upon a time there was a Lonely Man who travelled far and near. He carried everything he ever wanted and everything he ever needed with him and amongst those things the most important was a box. In that box was the sum of all his hopes and wishes and dreams.

One day as he was walking through the countryside a group of children stopped him, curious as to who he was and what was in the box.

Êtes-vous le Père Noël?

The man was confused at first but then realizing that his fur trimmed red mozetta and hood did in fact resemble the colors worn by Father Christmas he smiled.

No, he replied. I am only Abbe Wilhelm, though I wish I were St. Nicholas. I would be a bit early though, wouldn't I? It's only October.

The chattered about him, circling and grinning and asking him questions. Where he'd come from and where he was going?

The Lonely Man answered and asked them questions in return. His first being,

Why do you children wear these red caps?

We are the  _Bonnets Rouges_ , Abbe. They make us wear these so that everyone knows we are orphans. Should we come begging they can shutter their windows to us, close their doors. They kick us and curse us. Will you say mass for us, Abbe? Our priest no longer comes.

He hadn't intended to stay but he couldn't say no to them. The Lonely Man allowed them to lead him back to a large house further back into the country named St Jerome Emilani otherwise called  _La maison de la petite et perdu_ or The home of the little and lost.

The other children swarmed out to meet him and he smiled and laughed and picked them up and carried them about. He blessed them and the home, he performed the liturgy of the mass and he offered them the sacraments. He ate supper with them but took only the smallest portion that the Matron named Josette served not willing to take much needed food away from the children and those who cared for them.

They were all in a sorry state, dirty; cold, underfed and a bit starved for attention and his heart went out to them. The world at this time was still so much in the dark. Still crawling on it's belly trying to find it's way and just as it gained a footing some new awful specter would rise and with merciless boot heel, force mankind back down on all fours. He stayed with them for the evening and he told the children stories until they fell asleep. Finally the Lonely Man blew out the candles and rested there until morning. The children were sad to see him go and he was sad to leave them but he knew he must keep moving. He had his box to tend to. Handing the children candied chestnuts to share, he bid them farewell and set off.

But as he wound his way through the streets it became clear that the awful specter was rearing it's head again. It was a new enemy and a very, very old one which he had battled many times before.

Learning what he could of the legends and the history of what he once knew as Masalia he lingered, choosing not to board with anyone and instead staying up for three days and nights to watch what would unfold.

The streets were thick with people, citizens, foreigners, merchants and tradesmen's, all packed together, all jostling one another, all far, far too close.

And then they became thick with something altogether different.

Pestilence had slithered in.

Everywhere around him people began to get sick. Terribly sick. They rushed from their houses to the streets and from the streets to the hospitals but there weren't enough well people to help those who had fallen ill. That was when fear gripped the man's heart.

There were people who told him, Abbe, you look well! You should take you box and your belongings and flee. Run to Aix-en-Provence! To Apt! To Toulon! But wherever you go, you must leave here while you can!

But the Lonely Man knew he would be safe, as would his box.

He could only think of the little red hats and how frightened and alone they would be.

His mind worked quickly and he started to construct a plan. He had taken many vows since he first began and tried his best to hold true to the ones that mattered to him. At this moment he was glad he had not adhered strictly to that which pertained to poverty.

The prices of common goods had inflated but it didn't matter. He purchased many pounds of wheat and flour along with a horse and wagon. He procured seeds, four dairy cows, several chickens, a dozen fish and bales of hay. That which he could not transport now he promised to return for later.

And with this rather strange menagerie of animals, goods and of course his beloved box he found himself weaving through back roads, the town in the distance once again back at St. Jerome. Begging entrance as God's messenger and an instrument of his will he spoke to the matron of the house who was surprised to see him back again.

Mademoiselle, I come with both worrisome news and hope. A plague is overtaking the city, it already sits in the heart of Marseilles and threatens to overwhelm. I cannot save everyone but I can save the  _Bonnetts Rouges_. May I enter?

Josette obliged him and he began telling her all he knew. The children gathered round, and he saw the fear in the faces of the small boys and girls.

What he had learned from his many, many years was that there was always a period of silence that preceded the storm. They still had time.

I'm afraid that we must move quickly. He said. Little ones, I shall need all your help. Can you assist me?

They nodded, their smiles eager with bright excitement at being given a task.

C'est bon, mes enfants. I need you to unpack the fish that I brought. All that wonderful, smelly fish.

They giggled and waited for him to continue.

Do you remember the story I told you when I was here? About the funny pied piper of Hamelin and how he lead all the rats out of town?

They nodded.

Well, I need you to do something different. I need you to lead all the cats of Marseille right back here. As many as you can, my dears. Can you do that?

Again they nodded and he smiled and patted their heads.

Wonderful, then off with you now. To town!

Handing out more money he sent various other small bands of his little red hats off to buy brewing yeast, butter, corn and various other things as they came to mind.

Once the wagon was unloaded he set off again to purchase cedar chips, sugar, soap and whatever else might be needed for the long days ahead.

The children were as good as their word and by the time he returned at dusk he had nearly everything for which he had asked including a rather dizzying number of cats.

We'll start work on the barn tomorrow. It's in terrible shape. He said gazing out across the land before him.

Abbe, One of the women whispered at his side. Is it the Plague?

It is. He nodded solemnly.

No one survives the plague. All the poor children.

That isn't true. He said turning to her with a smile. People do fight it and sometimes they win. So shall we.

Had God told you this? Shall we put ourselves in His hands?

He didn't answer her.

The Almighty does move in this world, Mademoiselle. But there is a very old saying, Pray to God, but row for shore.

God helps those who help themselves. Came a small voice from below them. The man smiled and tousled the little ones hair.

You should be in bed, Michele. But you're right. Tonight we eat and we give thanks and we pray. Tomorrow, we begin to row.

The next morning he told them of his plans. First they needed to patch the barn which had fallen into disrepair. He tasked some of the older boys with chopping wood from the nearby forest and starting to fill the holes. Next they would need to prepare two small rooms off the kitchen, one to help store the food and grain and another which he prayed would never be used. After that he began to teach them how to build fishing poles.

But the fish belong to his Majesty. Josette protested.

His Majesty has little use for this stream or the fish, but we do.

And so it began. He was strict at first but he had to be. Their time was growing short and he needed to bring order to their lives if they were to stand what was ahead.

Marseille was descending into chaos, the daily plague bills listed more and more dead and soon people would start streaming from the town looking for whoever or whatever they could find.

Once he closed the doors after having been there a week, he essentially instituted a quarantine. No one was allowed to return to town, no one was allowed out after dark and when they did venture out it was only to be in pairs or accompanied by him.

Their mornings were spent cleaning the house, bringing order to chaos. Milking the cows, feeding them and the horses. Collecting eggs from the chickens and the less than than enviable task of sweeping errant mouse carcasses away from the doorsteps.

There were field mice a plenty for the cats and they and saucers filled with milk courtesy of the cows and the warmth of the barn were enough to keep them on the property.

His goal was that they be self sustaining and have enough food to help them through the winter and the following year and that meant working the land.

But Abbe, this ground hasn't yielded anything for years. The matron said. It's soured.

It's simply out of its nitrogen cycle. A bit of tilling, a bit of manure, a bit of compost and we'll be ready to plant come spring.

She looked at him curiously but didn't bother to question his words.

He still made occasional trips to town but they became fewer and far between. There was little left to buy, sell or trade and while he always tried to return quickly he rarely came back empty handed.

In those early days there was work and more work and even more work. To their eyes he was up before them and didn't go to bed until long after they fell asleep. Of course the truth was he rarely if ever went to bed. They felt safe with him there. Abbe. Their Abbe. And he liked being theirs. He had been alone for a while. A long while as a matter of fact.  Just he and his box and now it was good to have company.

He kept guard at nighttime, his eyes easily piercing the darkness, his ears hearing someone approach from distances human couldn't imagine. He would deal with them in different ways. Thieves and beggars alike he fed and sent away with what little he could spare in those early days. But they _were_ sent away. For those in which he saw a gleam in their eye, a look that said, Just one man and a few adolescent boys guard this place, we could surely take it, He showed his rarely used weapon. Some called him a demon and they crossed themselves. Some called him one of God's angels of vengeance and protection and they apologized. Some called him a witch. But no matter what, they all ran. It was a hard line and one his was loathe to draw. But his years of service to Rome and the crown had made him adept at making hard decisions. The Plague of Marseille would kill some 50,000, that was nearly 40% of the population. But not here. Not these children. Not his red hats.

Finally the rats came and he knew they would, branching out from the city, skulking and swarming around the house. But this was when they were accosted by the cats, fat from fish and milk they greeted the vermin and the disease they bore with eager teeth and claws.

Once they all fell into a routine the Lonely Man decided there was no time like the present than to start lessons. Everyday they had classes and though he was no professor he taught them as best he could, letters, reading, writing and arithmetic. Their studies had gone by the wayside or been altogether non existent and despite the madness and death just a few kilometers from their door he knew normalcy was best. When weather and nerves permitted they all went outside for recess and fresh air. Usually he worked to till the earth but sometimes, to their delight he joined in, always keeping an eye out for strangers.

For Noel they had  _galettes_  and watched the snowfall outside their windows. They didn't expect Father Christmas anymore. They had had far too many grueling seasons in their little lives to expect that he'd remember them. Perhaps that was why they were so surprised to wake up to find little rag dolls with their names sewn onto their clothes on Christmas morning. It had been a good way to pass the time on those long nights keeping watch and his auton hands moved swiftly and easily. That evening after the best dinner any of them had had in years, he told them stories, concluding the night with the story of the Christ child born so long ago in a manger. The children went to bed full, warm safe and happy, clutching their dolls in their sleep. And the Lonely Man was happy too.

Life went on. Winter ebbed, giving way to spring and when the ground would allow it he went out into the field to till the soil. It turned over with his plow, rich and fertile and ready to nurture and grow. So they began planting and as the months passed and the ground yielded what they needed he began to worry less and less about their prospects for survival. So long as they remained isolated they would be safe.

Perhaps he grew too cocky.

It was high summer and with it came another wave of plague more brutal than the first. It had never really ended but rather ebbed during the freezing French winter. But now on his trips to town he saw more sickness, more weariness and more lawlessness than he remembered witnessing in a good long while. He slipped out of the borders of Marseille without being noticed and as a precaution burned his clothing when he arrived back at home changing into an extra set he kept outside.

He was about to return to his work, chopping down timber when he was greeted by the sound of panicked cries and tears. Little Antoinette had fallen ill. A rapid fever, chills, vomiting, delusions. He rushed to her bedside and as he held her while she cried he also examined her little body for tell tale signs. To his distress they were there, swollen nodes underneath her armpits, around her neck and groin.

There was a rumor that she had seen a little dead squirrel outside and wanted to give it a proper burial. Perhaps that was where she had contracted it. Then again the floor inside were covered with hay, perhaps despite his best efforts fleas had gotten in. He wasn't sure how she'd fallen and at this point it didn't matter. He picked her up from her bed and carried her off to the room of the house he'd had cleaned and sectioned of when he'd first arrived. The room he'd hoped against hope he'd never have to use. Laying her down there he stripped her of her clothes and asked the matron to bring her a new nightgown. Striding past the worried faces of the children he headed back to Antoinette's part of the room. Lifting her makeshift mattress up he hefted it out of a nearby window bedding and all. The children gasped and he tried to make light of it to ease their fear.

No worries, my little ones. Antoinette is sick but she's going to get better. I promise.

Hurrying outside he dragged the bed to the small dark smoldering pile that had once been the clothes he'd worn into town and set it all ablaze again. The children stood by solemnly and watched, some burst into tears. The Lonely Man couldn't bear to let them go on this way. The best thing for all of them was to give them a task to do.

Have you ever seen it snow inside? He asked them suddenly.

The silliness of the question jarred them for a moment and removed from the fright of the situation at hand they shook their heads, No.

Perhaps since we're some six months away from last Christmas and six months away from the next, we should try to have half-Christmas tonight. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Again they nodded, greeting him with tentative smiles.

Good, well the first thing we'll need is snow. Michele, Isabeau I want you to go to the house and get all the bowls that you can and fill each one with barely yeast. Then I want you to hand a bowl out to each and everyone here. Then I want you to all go through the house sprinkling the barley yeast over everything, the floor and the beds and in every corner and every crevice until it looks like it's snowed indoors.

They brightened at the prospect, it's ridiculous nature helping to drive away their worry.

After that I want you to take your bowls and fill them with the cedar chips we store in the barn and then you should go around the outside edges of the house and the barn and the shed leaving the little bits wherever you tread.

What is that for, Abbe?

Well...we'll pretend that bits of the yule log that we're spreading around the farm so that we have Christmas spirit in every corner.

The Lonely Man was pleased that he could still think on his feet.

And I think perhaps the cats could do with a bit more fish. Perhaps we could leave a few lovely fish heads about to entice them closer to the house. After all they deserve a treat too don't they?

He was greeted with cheers and shouts in the affirmative and he smiled at them warmly. How quickly and easily he'd grown to love them.

And do you remember the pennyroyal that grows past the stream near the woods? I want you to take great cuttings of that and string it along the entrance to the barn so that when we lead the animals in they have to walk through it like pine garland. Alright?

He tried to stay cheerful but his mind was racing.

Ok, everyone off, you know what you have to do. Tonight we'll have a lovely meal and stories and a wonderful half Christmas.

The children scattered and as the fire died down he rushed back into the house to tend to Antoinette.

Is she going to die, Abbe? Josette questioned him.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

You know the medicinal arts as well?

We're going to find out. He said in a sotto voice. Please, keep her comfortable. There's something I need to do.

Hurrying to the kitchen he set to work. Taking flour that had already been milled for the evenings bread he began to make the dough. Once done he placed it into the wood burning stove and watched it carefully checking in on Antoinette and Josette when he could. When it was crusty and hard on the outside but still raw on the inside he removed it from the stove and before it had even cooled began to dice it into pieces. Grabbing the small barrel within which they kept the tea made from unmilled grains he dropped the pieces of bread inside and replaced the lid. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

When he reappeared from the kitchen he found the children had done a marvellous job. The flour was coated with the yeast, the smell of cedar was strong wherever he went, cats milled about territorially and a few of the older boys and girls were just finishing the garland for the barn.

Wanting to stay close to Antoinette he began to prepare dinner, a small feast of soup, potatoes, chicken and fresh bread. They cheered when when he brought out the food but once they started to eat they immediately began to pepper him with questions about their sick friend. He answered as best he could and returned to tend to the little girl while Josette oversaw dinner.

Antoinette was delirious, warm to the touch but shaking beneath her blankets. She called him papa and he comforted her as his daughter, holding her in his lap as she cried and slept and cried.

The hours ticked by slowly and as he had promised the children stories he and Josette traded places and the Lonely Man did his best to thrill them with tales, sometimes funny, sometimes scary but always frosty and chilly and full of the joy and promise and excitement of a new year filled with health and happiness.

After they'd all gone to bed he returned to Antoinette, feeding her broth, wiping her brow and comforting her as best he could. It was finally near dawn when he went back to the barrel. It was early but she was fading and he couldn't wait any longer to get started. Taking a ladle he dipped it into the wooden keg. What he pulled up was a thick, soupy concoction more porridge than liquid. Taking the bowl and a spoon he propped the little girl up in bed and began to feed it to her. Of course she fought him, making a terrible face as soon as it touched her tongue and weakly pushing him away. But she had so little fight left in her that eventually she began to take it with little fuss.

Again, there was little left to do now but wait. He administered the gruel to her every few hours and though the children kept inquiring about them both, Josette for the most part kept them busy sweeping away the yeast and taking to their studies.

Sometime after midnight the color returned to her skin. Some four hours later her sleep became less fitful. By lunchtime the next day she asked for water and by dinner she wanted her doll which having been plunged into the yeast and then washed thoroughly was ready for her.

She was still weak for many days after that but what Josette called the strange holy mixture had worked to cure her and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Things blessedly returned to normal. The Lonely Man didn't venture to town anymore. There was no need, they were nearly as independent as he had hoped they might become. the children had grown stronger and healthier than he could have ever imagined. And in the midst of the last great European plague outbreak the Lonely Man had found a strangely idyllic respite.

When real Christmas with it a biting winter came they were happy and warm sitting by the firelight playing with the simple wooden toys he'd been carving for them all year long.

Did you ever have a little boy, Abbe? Vachel asked him

Don't be stupid. One of the other children piped up. Priests can't have children.

The Lonely Man smiled and gently corrected her.

That's not entirely true. We never know when we may be called. Some are chosen by God later in life than others. I did have a little boy once and I loved him very much. I also had a wife.

Did they die?

Yes. Yes, they both died.

Will you see them again?

I hope...I believe that I will.

The little boy curled up in his lap and yawned and for the Lonely Man it felt good to hold a child in his arms again.

You believe in the Resurrection. Vachon said sleepily.

The man smiled as Josette lightly chastised the child for asking a servant of God such a silly question.

Yes...yes I absolutely believe that things which we thought were lost can come back to life. Now...someone owes me a story. I'm always telling them but I want to hear yours.

Through the choruses of I know one! and a small sea of raised hands it was finally decided that Francois would tell a story.

The story he told was one he and the children had heard many, many times before. It was the Tale of the Sainted Physician.

There was demon, a scary creature from the blackest pits of hell who had fallen from the sky. He brought with him pain and suffering and death and no man on earth could stop him. Until one day God sent a sainted physician down from heaven in a blue box. The demon was smart but the saint was smarter and he killed the demon and saved all the boys and girls and their parents. He left as quickly as he came but the children and grownups alike believe that someday he'll come back.

Are you the sainted physician, Abbe? Antoinette asked wide eyed.

The Lonely Man smiled and thought of a place far, far away, of friends and warmth and love, of red and blues and Christmases past that were somehow also yet to come.

No, I'm not him. But I do know him. And I know that he  _will_ come back.

I think it's him. He heard Michon whisper to Michele. Because he has a box and he saved us. I just don't think he's allowed to say.

Michel nodded solemnly in reply.

Winter again bled into spring and the crops rose high and healthy as did the children.

The Lonely Man made his first trip to town in ages and found it slightly changed. People had started to return. Not hordes mind you but a few here and there. Merchants tentatively opened their shops and people were once again nodding to one another in the streets. Health was slowly sweeping away the sickness. Everyone was halfway out of the dark.

This could only mean one thing. It was time for him to leave. He put off the announcement for as long as he possibly could but eventually after several night of trying to choose the proper words he told them. The children cried and clung to him, begging him not to leave and even Josette attempted to come up with excuses for him to stay.

But the Lonely Man knew it was the right thing to do. He had taken up too much time and too much space in their lives these past two years. It was time to quietly step out of the way. They knew how to tend to themselves now. The plague would be gone in months and they had all survived and flourished and come out of one of the last great sicknesses stronger and more self reliant than they could have imagine. He was so proud of them and in their last moments together he told them so.

He hugged each child and them his blessing as he had when he'd first arrived. He knew each of their names, he knew them so well that it tugged at old memories of his own family, his child and grandchildren from so many eons ago.

A part of him wanted to stay. A part of him always wanted to stay. And that was when he was sure he needed to leave.

We will bless you, Abbe Wilhelm. We will bless your name for all the years to come. Josette had whispered these words to him through her tears and he hugged the brave young woman fiercely.

He considered telling her about the gold coins he had left for them all but realized she would find them soon enough.

Take care of them. Take care of your home and let no one try and take either from you.

The children followed after the Lonely Man and his box until they came to the edge of the farm where obediently, as he had always told the to, they stopped.

I will never forget you. Be good, listen to Josette and realize that there is nothing beyond you, my little red hats. Nothing. The world is about to change in the most exciting of ways. Remember, chin up, brave heart and know that your Abbe will always love you. And perhaps someday I will come back.

He hadn't expected to cry as he turned from them and walked away. There had been so many goodbyes already and yet they never grew any easier.

As he walked away from them, he and his box, the Lonely Man could have sworn he felt a hand on each shoulder, one soft and feminine the other strong and masculine. Both familiar. Both loving. Both encouraging him onward. Not much longer now. Just another 250 years or so.

He smiled and his footsteps became lighter.

It was good not to travel alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys, I didn't want to add too much info at the start of the story because I just wanted you to read and enjoy it whether you understood it or not.
> 
> Abbe means Abbot, which you probably already knew. The bubonic plague struck the French city of Marseille in 1720 and the visitation lasted for two years. France was full of orphans and orphan asylums and it was decided that for identification purposes they wear red hats. For those who don't know, the thesis that I'm supposed to be working on instead of writing this is about the black plague and zombies so this is always on my mind. Bubonic plague is typically transmitted via the bite of a flea mostly carried by rats. Yeast is a natural method for killing fleas, cedar chips repel them as does pennyroyal. And finally, mummies of the ancient Nubians when uncovered were found to have very high levels of tetracycline, antibiotic. Apparently as far back as 2000 years ago they were brewing a beer (which was nothing like the beer we know now, it was thick and soupy, almost like gruel) with very powerful recuperative properties. Tetracycline is one of the few drugs you can give today to combat plague.
> 
> I thought it would be interesting if at times the Doctor's legacy got confused and muddled with Rory's. Two sainted physicians, two healers with boxes, two men who can't bear injustice or to sit back and hear children cry.


	141. January 7, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of January 1955

Dear Doctor,

Anthony was quite sullen at breakfast this morning. Irritable. Picking on his sister, backchatting Rory and I and in general being a bit of a terror.

Alright, young man, obviously there's something wrong. Out with it. I said after he purposefully knocked his toast onto the floor.

He folded his arms across his chest and pouted.

Where does Melody live? He asked suddenly.

You've been to your sisters before. I replied and took a long sip of my orange juice.

Melody kept a nondescript flat somewhere or I should say  _sometime_  and occasionally she took Anthony and Vickie there. Direct trip, discreet use of the vortex manipulator. No technology strange enough to draw their attention once they arrived. Just fun with their big sister.

But where does she live? Can we go there now?

Of course not, you have school.

But if I didn't-

You do. Rory said firmly.

Vicki stared at the three of us, eyes wide, cereal spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

You guys don't tell me nothing.

Anything. We don't tell you anything. I corrected and Rory gave me the most amused look as if to say Now is when you correct grammar.

Melody took me to see that painting. But that painting isn't here. It's in another country but we didn't take a ship or a plane or anything. And sometimes you both say things that don't make any sense. And you're...you're not like other parents. Mom you don't act like the other mothers.

I don't? I'd asked him probably sounding slightly hurt.

They fuss all the time. And they don't let kids talk. When I go over to Billy's house we eat dinner in the kitchen cuz we're not allowed at the big table. And their mom's are always busy, they're never around. But you're here most of the time to play with me and read stories and stuff. You're never too tired or sad or angry.

My heart melted a bit at this completely unexpected response.

And we can run at Daddy when he comes home. We don't have to be quiet or leave him alone. And I heard Mrs. Phillips talking to Mr. Phillips and they said you were European and that's why you talk the way you do and that if Mrs. Phillips talked about stuff like you do to Dad he'd take her across his knee and giver her a spank on her-

That'll do. Rory said, trying to suppress a laugh. It's not polite to gossip but we've got the message anyway.

This was so funny, Doctor. Rory and I had tried a long time ago to be a little more normal for the time. I borrowed the book "How To Be A Good Wife" from Sunny and decided to try and follow some of the things inside it. I still remember the first few sentences.

"Have dinner ready. Prepare yourself. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Be a little gay and a little more interesting."

So, I tried it, partly as a lark and partly because things in 1938 were so hard for us for awhile. I thought it would take my mind off of things while easing his.

It lasted for about three days until finally he asked me.

Amy, what are you doing?

I honestly have no idea.

It's just...weird...you're not being you.

I'd pursed my lips a bit at that.

What I'm not pretty and helpful and attentive normally?

No, that's not what I meant. I don't want this. I don't want you bringing me my slippers and pipe like a servant or a golden retriever. And I don't want you having to rush and put makeup and a new dress on when you work just as hard as I do. This is insane. You're my wife. I love you. You want me to act as a husband from the '30's then here's my decree. Go wash your face, put on my pajamas and those beaten up slippers of yours, sit down, relax and let me make dinner for you. Alright? And give this silly book back to Sunny...and then tell her to burn it.

I'd given him a grin and a little salute at that.

Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear.

And that had essentially been the end of that. We weren't a 30's couple or a 40's couple and we weren't a 50's couple. There was the definite scent or equality in our home and we didn't tamp down the egalitarian nature for anybody. The few dinner parties we've hosted have often ended in a rather uncomfortable silence. We do however do our best to keep our Anti-McCarthyism quiet and I have the halfmoon fingernail marks on the meat of my palm to prove it. I knew others had noticed, they also probably took note of the late evening get togethers we'd have with those they'd probably deem less than respectable. I knew they counted themselves as liberal Manhattanites given that they let their children play with a little boy with a _coloured_   sibling. I knew all this, I guess I was still a little surprised  _Anthony_ knew.

And Doctor, he's noticed a great deal more than that.

What's in that room you won't let us in? He said pointedly.

Yeah. Vickie said quietly her voice barely above a whisper.

Are you finished with your breakfast, little miss? I asked her and she nodded. Then I believe it's time you get your workbook and your pencils so we can start our day. Right?

Right, mommy. She smiled and pushed away from the table prepared to dash away.

Wait a moment, what about a kiss for Daddy who's got to be off to work and won't see his little dear for hours and hours? Rory teased.

Vickie did a u-turn and kissed him on the cheek before running from the room.

Now, Anthony, both your mother and I have to get to work and you have to go to school but we've heard your questions. Rory said before glancing at me.

And we're going to answer them. I finished.

You are? He asked rather incredulously.

Of course we are, you asked. Rory replied.

Anthony gazed at us for a moment before shaking his head.

Not like other parents. He said before pushing away from the table.

So, that's where we stand, Doctor. Vickie is taking her nap and I took a few minutes to write this entry and sometime tonight come the talk.

_The. Talk._

Not nearly as daunting as the other talk we'll have to give him when he's around twelve.

Anyway, I'm brainstorming.

How exactly do you tell your son that his mum and dad and sister were time travelers with his thousand plus year old brother-in-law who he's never met?

I think it would be easier to just tell him we're spies.

Love across the stars, Doctor and keep your fingers crossed for us.

-Your Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Very briefly that is a real book I referenced you should look it up for a chuckle. It has gems like:
> 
> 10\. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
> 
> 12\. Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or even stays out all night, or goes out for dinner, or other places without you. Instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
> 
> 7\. Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part.
> 
> And there was also a statistic on NPR that said your average working mother from today actually spends more time with her kids than a stay at home mom in the 60's.


	142. January 7, 1955 (Evening)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of January 1955

Dear Doctor,

Why should facing my ten year old son feel so much, in this moment, like facing the gallows? He's one little boy who forgets to put his wellies away if he's not kept after. We're not confessing to a crime or some sort of dark secret. If anything this secret is bright and happy.

You told me once that when your people are young, very, very young, you're awakened in the middle of the night and taken to stare into time itself. I know you were frightened...but I wonder how your parents felt. Leading you there. Letting you go. Knowing that this would change you, possibly even break you.

I don't think he's ever gotten home from school faster. He rushed through the front door, tossed his books and coat to the floor and sped into the kitchen. I of course promptly told him to pick his things up and run off and play with his sister while I made them both a snack.

There was no way in hell I was doing this without Rory but he wasn't due back home for a few hours. So I started trying to gather my thoughts.

This isn't a story that starts with you, Doctor. So many of our stories do or they at least circle around to you but this starts with us. Rory and I and a sleepy town with a no-duck duck pond named Leadworth.

We ended up waiting until after dinner and after Vickie was in bed. We took our son into our bedroom with Spartacus trailing behind and shut the door.

Son... Rory began and then faltered. Your mother and I decided that the best way to start this is with family photo album.

He immediately started to whine.

I've seen all the old albums. You said you'd-

No. Rory said. You haven't seen these.

He stood up from the bed and stepped into our closet emerging with several of the albums we kept hidden away. We took them out, every now and then, just to reminisce but life had been too busy lately to look back. Though I think that's a good thing.

I took one of the albums from Rory and opening it, laid it across my lap.

Now, here's your dad and I as babies.

They're in color. He said with shock.

Yes, they are. Rory answered simply and raised his eyebrows at me as if to say, Here we go.

Anthony pointed to a picture of me as a baby.

You were funny looking. He said with a laugh.

Oi, that's no way to talk to your mum. I said affectionately ruffling his hair.

That's my mum and dad and I in Scotland and this is your dad and his parents in Leadworth.

Where you both grew up.

Yeah, right.

He frowns and peers closer at the picture. And when he frowns Doctor all my ideas about genetics and inherited traits fly out of the window. He looks like Rory, he makes the same faces as Rory. I see it in Vickie too and of course Rory says the same thing about the children and me. My heart just clenches sometimes with how much I love them.

Is...is that a car?

Yep, that's my dad's mustard Ford Fiesta. He loved that hideous car.

Somethings were of course the same, passable for this time or any other. There were pictures of me jumping rope or playing with my doll version of you or the TARDIS. Photo's of Rory playing footy. But Anthony always managed to pick out the anachronisms in the background. A strange piece of technology, the odd clothing. It started to unsettle him.

Turn the next page, son. Rory said softly. Anthony did so with obvious confusion. And there we were the three of us. Me and Rory and Mels standing in front of the TV. It was the first time we'd been allowed to stay up past midnight. So there we stood, with our party hats and noisemakers in front of a big banner we'd made.

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2001

But you were born in 1905!

Suddenly he pushed the album away and it went careening off his lap and onto the floor.

Anthony- Rory began but our son cut him off.

Why are you doing this? It isn't funny, it's...

He struggled for his words as he still tended to do when he got upset before reverting to his native tongue.

It's scheißdreck! He finally spat and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hey, hey, hey. Rory began sternly. What have we told you about that kind of language? It's common, es ist unhöflich and we'll not be having it.

I saw both Rory and I make a mental note to stop swearing so much even when we thought the children were out of earshot.

That being said, I added, We understand you're upset and confused. But we're just trying to be honest with you. We think you deserve that and we think you're old enough to handle it.

So, what you're aliens? Like the ones Captain Zero meets? He asked with more derision than I thought a little boy could muster. Then again, didn't I used the same tone when I skeptically asked you if your spaceship was real?

No, we're very much human but, you dad and I were born in the year 1989. I think maybe this might go over a bit better with visual representation. Come along, Pond. I said reaching for his hand. We three stood up and headed down that hallway. Rory unlocked the door and in we stepped.

In the years since we'd adopted the kids we'd grown much more secretive about things. We used to leave our laptops out anywhere, only scurrying to hide them away if there was a surprise knock on the front door. We left our mobile's out so as to occasionally check Facebook or Twitter just to see what our friends were up to in the 2020's without us. But once Anthony had arrived everything had been shoved away, only brought out in secret or when all little ones had gone to bed. This room served as a little bit of everything my office and Rory's as well when he wanted to write. We had our laptops, mobiles, our wireless phones, our old Keurig, a microwave, a mini fridge, our iPods and iPads, weapons, a small stash of medicines from our old present as well as things Rory had picked up during our travels and of course our diaries and journals. There were so many other things, countless things that we didn't even think about anymore.

We went around the room explaining things to our little boy but making sure not to answer anything he didn't ask. There was no reason to confuse him. We promised to answer any other questions he had as they arose. For the most part he just nodded, becoming more and more quiet as we went on.

I think we're overwhelming him. Rory said at the same time Anthony interjected with, I want to go to bed now.

We agreed and hastily took him to bed, tucking him in before sitting on either side of his mattress.

Anthony, there's just one more thing. This has to be a secret between you and your dad and Melody and I. You can't tell anyone about this, not even Vickie. She's too little, she wouldn't understand.

A look passed across his features that said he barely understood but he nodded just the same.

Do you want us to tell you a story? Rory asked.

He shook his head.

Melody will tell me a story. He said simply.

Rory and I furrowed our brows and looked to one another and then to him.

What do you mean?

She comes almost every night and tells me a story. He said with a yawn.

Does she now? Rory asked incredulously.

Mmhmm. I'm sleepy now. Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.

I smiled as we were dismissed by our ten year old and Rory and I rose from the bed as he turned over on his side. Just as we hit the door he called out.

Mom?

Yes, love?

You wouldn't...leave us, would you? If you're from the future you wouldn't go back there and leave me and Vickie here because we don't fit in, would you?

We would never, ever, ever leave you, baby. And I promise you. Your dad and I aren't going anywhere. Not ever.

That's right. We're a family and family stays together, always.

Anthony nodded and the matter seemed for the time being to be put to rest.

Rory and I hurried back to our bedroom and we both flopped on the bed with exhaustion.

That went...well? I guess... He said.

I think it went as well as it could.

Do you think he believed us?

Not a chance. He'll probably eye us all through breakfast tomorrow waiting for the inevitable, We were just having you on!

Rory and I shared a laugh before he turned his body towards me, cuddling against mine.

How about our daughter? Showing up, reading them stories every night?

I paused for a moment.

But remember, we used to do that for Mels. We all three had those walkie talkies and she'd get on hers in the middle of the night and say she couldn't sleep and you and I would take turns telling her stories until she dozed off.

Wow...you know I'd forgotten about that.

Yeah me too, until just now. I think we might be halfway decent parents, Rory.

I think you might be right. In fact, I think this was a fine day of parenting on our part. Want to celebrate? He asked giving me a flirty eyebrow waggle.

What have I told you about the waggle? I asked with a laugh. It's ridiculous and not at all sexy.

You love my waggle. He insisted. You can't resist it. He said attacking my lips with kisses.

And it's true. I do love his waggle, Doctor. But now after our second  _celebration_ of the night we're pretty knackered.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Take care.

Love,

Your Ponds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little difficult because it's rather hard to imagine what might be shocking to someone from the '50's. So I kept things pretty simple but I'm going to do a bit more research and come up with some better answers in the upcoming chapters. Anthony will obviously have more questions later.


	143. January 23, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of January, 1955

Dear Dad,

I realize now, after all these years how difficult it is to be a father. Or, shall I say a _good_   father. Being a terrible dad is really quite easy. Just ignore your kids, be awful to your wife, pick up a nasty drinking habit and leave when things get a bit too rough and Bob's your uncle. There you are, a terrible dad. Being a good father, which is what I'm trying to be is a good deal more difficult.

I used to be so angry with you, Dad. I thought that after mum died the only thing that mattered to you in this world was gone. I didn't really think I meant much. I was lonely and sad and the only things that ever helped to break that sadness were Amy and Mels. I couldn't see how hard all this was for you. How difficult, how painful.

I helped bring a life into the world today. I'm a general practitioner which makes me a jack of all trades here. It wasn't my first time and it won't be the last. But it's still magical and marvelous and real.

I'm father to five children and I was only there for the birth of one of them and we scattered her ashes not long after.

I told you about my daughter, the one you have met, the one I hope you meet again.

Now, I want to tell you about the one you'll never meet.

Adora would be turning thirteen this coming April. Thirteen. When I write that it hardly seems possible. We were so excited when Amy took the test, a modern one from our time, accurate and reliable. We kept it quiet. Doctor's had told us that it couldn't ever happen. Not ever. So this seemed like a miracle. Amy had been abducted, you see and they...it's not important who they are...had done horrible things to her. Awful, vile things that had scarred and injured her in a way that made professionals assure us we would never, ever have another child of our own.

She was a miracle. Our Adora. Our Beloved. After a few months went by and Amy started to show we began to get cautiously optimistic. We began to chat, softly, lightly about what we would do, what life would be like, how we would raise her. I don't think we'd been filled with so much hope since we'd arrived here. I can't speak to Amy's private fantasies but for my part I dreamt of holding a little hand and walking her to the park. I dreamt of little red coats and pigtails and visits to libraries. I dreamt of bouncing a precious little creature on my lap, reading her stories and having her fall asleep against my chest. My heart shattered when we lost her. I did my best to stay strong for Amy but inside I was empty. I walked through my shifts at hospital like a zombie, just going through the motions. The truth is I had months where I was just not emotionally there.

We were finally able to pull ourselves out of the muck and with the help of Melody we were able to let her go. But it was hard. Thirteen years later and it's still hard. The selfish part of me rages that I have three daughters, not just two. And where is she? Why isn't she here? _Where is she_?

I usually reserve this for the Doctor. He lost his children. All of his children in a great and terrible war. And he managed to go on. Given what happened with baby Melody I can't think of anyone I would have rather had with us. There was no one I trusted more on long, sleepless nights than my best mate. No one who was able to speak to me rationally, honestly, openly and with immeasurable compassion.

I hope this isn't too much for you, Dad. You can take a break if you like. You can fold this letter up and put it away in your desk for years. My words will last, that's what pen and paper are for. Maybe you should spend this time with Anthony not on a trip through the boneyard with me.

Do I sound ungrateful? I don't mean to, but as much as Amy and I don't talk about it I know neither one of us has ever gotten over Adora. I don't think you can ever get over something like that.

I miss her. I held her for just a moment and I miss her.

The last time I cried for her and I mean really sobbed was years and years after her death. It was when I realized her natural nickname, besides the obvious 'Adorable', would have been Dory.

Rory and Dory.

I would have loved that.

I love you, Dad.

_Filius est pars patris._


	144. February 8, 1955

8th of February, 1955

Dear Amy,

After much deliberation I decided to accept the teaching position at the University of Edinburgh. I still have offers that come in every now and then, from the States, from think tanks and aerospace companies, even MI5...I don't think you're supposed to know about that but I'd wager you already do! In any case I'd rather while away my days in the comfort and security of a classroom.

Dorabella is well but she has had a persistent cough. I'm chalking it up to a rather wet winter. Or at least I'm trying to believe that's all.

There are things that I can only discuss with you my dear. These thirteen years of correspondence with you have been some of the most fruitful and full of my life. But things are now occurring to me, things I hadn't considered before.

In my my head...and my heart I have such a clear memory of my life. I was born in 1895, I remember my father would visit a bakery on the way home from work every afternoon and treat mother and I with tarts and shortbreads. I recall hoop racing and playing marbles and making flying jenny's all afternoon. I remember watching my best mate being blown to pieces during the Battle of Passchendaele when I was 19. That would make me 60 now. I remember university, my studies, my friends, the first time I saw Dorabella.

None of that is real. I've come to grips with that and it doesn't bother me anymore. It feels real and isn't that enough? Why dispose of pleasant, harmless lies? While the plans for my...disposal have been secured I realize eventually I will have to disappear. I can only conceivably remain publicly, as I am for another 10 years, perhaps 15. But after that the obviousness of my lack of aging will become rather difficult to ignore.

What then?

Must I resign myself to spending the rest of my life, however long that may be in anonymous hiding? And alone...most assuredly alone. The day I lose my dear Dorabella I fear I shall lose everything.

I think I've fallen into one of your old habits, late night letter writing. What is it about that that makes one so maudlin?

Dorabella calls it  _vargtimmen_.

How is it I never considered these things before? And how is it they seem so inconsequential and surmountable in the light of day and so ominous and looming come nightfall?

I'm sorry my dearest Amy, I'll end this letter now. Perhaps it won't even find its way into the post.

As always, I wish you and Rory and your little family the best. We have the latest picture you sent us displayed proudly on the mantle. How lucky we both feel to have such an extended family.

Ever yours,

Bracey


	145. February 21, 1955

21st of February, 1955

Dear Bracey,

I know all too well about  _vargtimmen_ , the hour of the wolf. I spent far too much of my life in that dead time. After three...but before five, just on the edge of dawn when everything you've done or didn't do, everything you've lost and never found again comes flooding back to you. I have been there. I lived there for longer than I even want to remember and I'm sorry for the time you're spending there.

As for your memories, your life, it's real because it's a part of you. It made you who you are. It keeps making you who you are. Don't waste another day trying to piece together a puzzle that's already complete. You are Edwin Bracewell and that is all you ever need to know.

To answer your question of; what then?  _Then_  when that day comes, you come and stay with us. You catch a plane and you come here to us. We're your family and that's what family is for. Papers, identification, an entirely new identity is a trifle. We can handle that so don't even give it a second thought.

I know how to you feel, I know what it's like to see your life stretched out ahead of you and know that at some point you'll be walking alone.

I know when Rory is going to die. I know I told you that already, way back in 1943 but every so often it hits me. Every so often I realize that each day we spend together is another day checked off.

Barring the unexpected, I have 34 years left with my husband. It sounds like such a long time but I realize it will be over just like that.

All we have is all we have, I suppose.

You're not the only one who's a bit glum. Every so often I get a surprise phone call from Churchill. He says I help to chase away his black dog.

I spoke to him early last year and he said,

You'd never vote for me would you, my dear?

I replied, Winston if you were running unopposed I'd check an empty box.

He laughed so hard I thought he might have another stroke.

He's had two you know.

He went on to say that I was past the acceptable age of being a liberal and I told him I was born labour and I'll die labour. Or I suppose Democrat, over here. And I added how dare he make mention of my age!

I have a date with old Winston. I promised him that the day before he died we'd have a long talk and I'd answer just about any question he ever had. I'm glad I'll be able to be there for him in my own small way.

In the end that's all we have...being there for each other.

Write more. Call more. Visit us. Don't be a stranger.

All my love,

Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Churchill fought depression all his life, and not just "the blues" but serious, suicidal depressive tendencies. He called it "the black dog".
> 
> "I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train. I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation." - Winston Churchill (1874-1965)"


	146. April 11, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of April, 1955

Dear Dad,

You missed the Cold War, didn't you? The wall fell in 1989 when you were 30, a month before I was born. I remember the 70's and the 80's or rather I remember what young people were like during those decades. Youth was all encompassing, it blotted out everything else. Am I right in guessing that the level of your engrossment in Soviet politics went as far as Rocky IV? It's a bit different living it. Everyone seems to imagine that the 1950's were a time of great prosperity and hope, as though we're all still riding the high from the end of the war. To some extent that's true but in other ways it's all mythology. There is so much fear, fear of the unknown, fear of the bomb, fear of the communists, fear of blacks, fear of women. It's everywhere and it permeates everything and that's why we have this idea that everything was so buttondown and perfect. It had to be, this is no place for diversity or divergence. It's frightening.

I think people have the same idea about Rome. It's strange for me to call it  _Ancient_ Rome as I lived through it. It was home and as such, no less vibrant than any day I spent in the 21st century or beyond. People think it was all togas and wine drinking and grape eating. Hardly...

I'm going to try and explain, Dad, just what happened to me as best I can. I carry with me a dual set of memories, two timelines, two lives lived...two childhoods. It seems like everywhere I start would honestly count as the middle of the story so I'll just begin by saying that in the year 2020, some 21 kilometers beneath Welsh soil, I died. I was shot by a weapon as I tried to protect the Doctor and Amy. Her face was the last thing I ever saw.

From then on, things get a little weird, so bear with me.

I was born in 81 AD in Cym or what you would call Wales. This was over 8 decades after the crucifixtion of Christ though it would be another 100 years before Christianity took root there. At the time I arrived my people, the mighty Silures tribe had been under Roman siege for over 30 years and Roman rule for 7. My father's name was Broderic and my mother was Brythonwen. They were fairly well to do and practical and as such saw Roman rule as completely inevitable. My father Broderic would take me to one of the lookout towers and show me where he had helped to fight off a legion when he was a teenager. He was a proud man but he did love his indulgences and that was why we he and my mother were so happy in Caerwent.

Caerwent was where I grew up. It was a bustling, cosmopolitan village with shops and hotels, a market and playhouse and more amenities than you could imagine. We had what would count as central heating and it was never all that dark due to olive oil burning lamps. It was lovely and modern and wonderful. I had for all intents and purposes a very happy childhood but I knew, I just knew I wanted to be a soldier. Broderic wanted me to consider opening up a shop, Brythonwen would have preferred I stayed close to home and farmed but I knew I wanted to serve Rome.

I believed wholeheartedly in  _Pax Romana_ and I would excitedly give the soldiers who occasionally rode past the  _saluto romano_ and shout  _Civus Romanus Sum!_

At 16 I left home and presented myself to the nearest military tribunal. I swore the  _sacramentum_ and in that one act I became a servant of Rome. I wasn't a soldier quite yet. That required endless 20 mile marches in blistering heat, absolute obedience to my general and a willingness to kill anything and everything that he commanded I vanquish on site. I returned home and told my incredibly disappointed parents what I had done. They knew that the only thing to release me from service now that I had donned the red toga of the military and shed the white of a citizen, was death. I gathered what few weapons I had and bid them farewell.

I never saw my father again. Once...just as I was passing through, decades later I saw my mother. She was old and stooped and there I was hardly different from when she last saw me and pulling a mysterious box behind me. I didn't stop. I couldn't. When the Doctor and Amy had reappeared things had changed, but more on that later. We made eye contact, Brythonwen and I and I called out to her,

_Habes meum, et matrem. Et dedi te in tuum. Tu, filius tuus, amet._

_You have my heart, mother. And I give you back yours. Your son loves you._

She clasped her hands before her chest and called out to me but I drove onwards. At that time everything was still so new...comparatively speaking. I was so afraid of getting bogged down in the past, a past I knew was no longer true.

How was she even real?  _Was_ she real? I didn't belong in that world, I was transplanted there so how did she remain? I still don't know the answer to that just as I don't understand why a friend of mine was able to re-meet and marry a childhood sweetheart who by all rights never existed in the first place. Perhaps sometimes the universe is merciful. Or perhaps we sometimes mistake its carelessness for mercy.

I didn't realize how much it could still hurt to talk about her. My mother had long dark hair, strong hands and a merry laugh...sometimes she would sing me to sleep.

But, back to my story.

Through intense training I learned I had a skilled hand when it came to both the sword and one-on-one combat. I was a good horseman and a better leader and as I slowly made my way across Roman Briton I proved my worth and earned my ranks. I rose from a lowly  _munifex_ to  _evocati_ until finally by the age of 22 I was a centurion with 100 men at my command.

I had been stationed at Vespasian's Camp for 3 months when the woman appeared. She arrived by chariot via honor guard in resplendent fashion. She said she was Cleopatra but for some reason that just didn't seem right. Still we paid her the honor due a Caesar and Queen. With the Commander gone it fell to me and I made certain she was looked after and never treated with anything but the utmost respect. She had the reddest lips I had ever seen and a strange habit of kissing blokes after which they behaved in the silliest and most baffling of ways.

When I had introduced myself I saw her blink rapidly a few times. My mother had given me a good, strong Celtic name, Ruaidhri but upon the start of my military service I Romanized it.

I am Novellus Rorium, Majesty and it is my distinct honor to serve you.

She gave me the strangest look, she smiled and studied me, almost as if she knew me. Though I didn't feel the slightest spark when I saw her.

The pleasure is mine, Rorium.

One afternoon Cleopatra told us that Caesar was approaching and that we should make ready for him. I dispatched a soldier to greet him and escort him back to camp. His arrival changed my life forever.

I've written a lot tonight, Dad. I think I'll give us both a break and end things for now.

More later, I promise.

I love you,

Rory.

_Filius est pars patris_


	147. April 15, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of April, 1955

Dear Dad,

Let's push on, shall we?

When I was just a small boy in Caerwent I used to have these strange dreams. Some of them were funny and relaxing, some of them were confusing and terrifying. In a few of them I was a child, in others I was a man. But no matter what age there was always this girl there. This beautiful girl with red hair. There were also so many things I didn't understand, the clothes, the technology, the people...none of it made sense but it all seemed so real. And when I would wake up from these dreams I'd feel this horrible sense of empiness and longing. Like I had lost something.

As Caesar approached I had my men tidy up the camp so as to look both ready and respectable. He arrived with a good deal less fanfare than one would expect. I was at the far end of the camp at the time but I heard no commotion just a general rumbling among the men that signaled his presence. I hastily made my way to the headquarters prepared to introduce myself. I parted the drapes, Hail Caesar upon my lips when I suddenly stopped.

There she was. The girl. And suddenly I knew her name. Amy. This was Amy,  _my_ Amy.

But I didn't have an Amy.

Imagine remembering two decades all at once. Imagine having all these foreign memories rush back at you and knowing that as strange as they felt they were all absolutely true.

But there can't be two truths, can there?

I was suddenly experience a splitting headache, by far the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. Easily besting the time I fell off my horse and broke my arm when I was 10 or the time I took a sword wound to the shoulder when I was 18. I hurried away from the tent and my men, away from the girl. Once out of their sight I dropped to my knees, thrusting my fist into my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

I wasn't a Roman. I was someone who lived a life a thousand miles and two thousand years from this place. Amy was my fiancee. That man standing beside her was my mate. And I had died. I had died. I had died.

But how was I here,  _why_ was I hear? How did I have these memories of a childhood, intricate, detailed memories, of love and laughter and pain and hardship and joy and ease and falling asleep in my mothers arms as she sang to me.

The thing about memories is that they're seamless, or rather they appear to be. Like a clay vase, sitting on a shelf they appear to be perfect. But if you remove that vase and stare at it very, very carefully, if you run your fingers over the surface you might just see the crack. The tiny seam where it was pieced back together after it had a terrible and unexpected fall. When I really thought back, when I searched and perhaps looked in the places I least wanted to, I saw that seam.

I woke up at Vespasian.

That was all.

Anything before that was before the seam, any memories before that were pre-crack. Amy and I have very separate and very bad history's with cracks.

The truth was I had only been here for a few days, if even that. Not 22 years, not a lifetime. A handful of days.

When my commander returned I had recovered as best I could. I wanted to rush up to Amy and the Doctor but I needed to wait for the right moment. I found it as I watched Cleopatra take out an incongruous weapon and reduce the assembled to frightened boys. At that moment I signaled my superior.

_Well, it seems you have a volunteer._

Amy of course, didn't know me. As I had just remembered her I hoped somehow she'd remember me, but she didn't. Still though, it was miraculous to just see her again, save her again.

The Doctor however did recall me and perhaps were I not so confused and distraught and wounded I might have hugged him.

_I died and turned into a Roman. It's very distracting._

And so it was. The long and short of it, Dad, is that I wasn't human. I was human _oid_ but the closest you could probably come to getting just what I was, is thinking that I had become a robot or possibly an android. Either definition would suffice. What happened over the next few hours would likely take ten separate letters to explain so I'll be brief. I injured Amy, nearly fatally and the only thing that could save her, heal her, was a box called the Pandorica. I had the choice to hitch a ride with the Doctor back to 2010, but that would have meant leaving Amy in that box, all alone and unprotected for nearly 2000 years.

I couldn't do that Dad. You always used say your middle name was Diligence.

I suppose my middle name is Fidelity.

I couldn't betray Amy by leaving her alone, so I promised I would guard the box until she and I could be together again. And so Robot Rory was in effect born and he had a purpose.

During my years with the Pandorica I traveled all over Europe, Dad. England, Italy, Greece, Ireland, Scotland, Rome. I spent time in Russia, Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey. I have become fluent in and forgotten more languages than I can recount, some of them have long ago faded into disuse and dust.

I have fought in so many wars. I know...well I know you didn't think I was much of a man. It's alright, I understand. I think we both know you didn't have a great deal of faith in me. I know that put a tremendous amount of strain on our relationship. And it's ok. I didn't have a lot of faith in myself either.

After the Doctor left me with the Pandorica, I sat down, leaned back against it and thought, What on earth have I done? I can't do this. I can't manage it. I'm the same Rory who got kicked out of scouting for reading when I should have been learning how to erect a tent. I'm the same Rory who failed P.E... twice. I'm nobody's protector.

But I realized we were both wrong, Dad. I have lead men to the battlefield, I have fought in more skirmishes, campaigns and wars than I care to remember. I have wounded and nurtured. I have erected towns and tilled the soil. I have spent years in quiet, dutiful contemplation. I have saved lives. I have taken lives. But none of that is what made me a man, in fact some of the things I've had to do, I fear, have made me less of a man. The point is, I've done them. I think carrying on is what made me a man. There were times when I was so tired, so lonely, so frightened and weary and on the verge of giving up but I put one foot in front of the other and I went on.

There's almost too much to tell. The things I saw, the people I met, the history that unfolded before me. I'm human now, flesh and blood and quite breakable. We rebooted the universe so that everything I did never happened. Except it still happened for me. I still remember it, every second, every moment.

For the most part it was simply livable or rather survivable. But other times I had moments of such immense joy and peace and happiness. One of those moments revolved around the years I spent with my son. I'll tell you and perhaps Amy about him in a bit.

I love you, Dad,

Love, Rory.

_Filius est pars patris_


	148. May 6, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of May, 1955

Dear Doctor,

Summer Falls has been released and you must promise me that you won't read it. Not just yet. I'll tell you when. I trust that you can keep a secret from yourself. Give me your word, Raggedy Man and repeat after me, Whatever you say, my glorious Pond.

There, that's better.

I know one of the things you probably hoped for us when we got sent back here is that we'd be able to lead a quiet life. And we have...but quiet only lasts for so long. I hadn't told you about this because I thought you'd worry.

Jack has been sending us postcards through the years, they only have a date and location written on them.

**Sweden/Russia May thru December 1946**

_Come if you can._

That was the first one we got not more than a month after we last saw him.

**June 21, 1947 Pugets Sound**

_Come if you can._

**June 6, 1947 Mount Rainier**

_Come if you can._

**July 8, 1947 Roswell**

_You know you can't resist._

But we could resist. Oh it was hard, mind you but we had a three year old which easily takes the shine off of running after aliens.

**October 1, 1948 North Dakota**

**October 15, 1948 Kyushu Island, Japan**

**August 25, 1950 Lubbock, Texas**

They kept coming, every so often. Sometimes four or five a year. Sometimes he'd go silent for what seemed liked ages and though we hated to admit it, we worried. For him and for ourselves.

Something is building. Rory said and I agreed before the words were even out of his mouth.

Finally, after a year of silence I got a letter.

_Hello Red,_

_Miss me?_

_Sorry I dropped off for awhile but when Eisenhower goes missing some one has to go looking for him. I've been traveling around a lot as you can imagine. I get antsy when I have to stay still in any one place for too long. I have a feeling you know what I mean. I hope you and yours are well. I started writing this letter with a dozen, maybe even a hundred things to say and now that I put pen to paper I find myself drawing a complete blank. Maybe I'll bring this to a close now._

_Yours,_

_Captain Jack Harkness_

And that was it. That was all he wrote. Short and to the point. At first I wasn't even sure there was a point but the more I ruminated on it the more I realized what he was really saying. He was lonely. Poor Jack, here all alone. No family or friends, just a faceless business that he worked for. Rory and I were lucky, we had each other, we set down roots. Who did Jack have?

I know, quite a turn about from how I greeted him when we first met. But children soften you, so does time and so does counting your blessings and stacking them up against someone else's. With that in mind I decided to write him back. I trusted that with one of Rivers stamps a letter from me would reach him wherever he was.

Dear Jack,

Of course I missed you. I thought that Eisenhower disappearing thing was just a silly story conspiracy theorists like to toss about. It's real? Tell me about it, please. Or how about this, a story for a story? You tell me about sometime you stopped the world from ending and I'll match it with one of my own. What say?

I've included A few sheets of our special note paper. I hope the fractals aren't too distracting. Write us anytime, day or night.

Yours,

Amelia "Red" Pond-Williams

By that evening he had written back. He was still a bit tentative, still a bit reserved but I had definitely sparked his interest.

Over the ensuing days, months, years Jack became a part of our lives.

We both loved quizzing and besting the other.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was in a traveling sideshow?

Did I ever tell you about the time the Doctor and I switched bodies?

Did I ever tell you about the time I had an early dinner and a late breakfast with Oscar Wilde?

Did I tell you about the time I met C.S. Lewis?

We went back and forth just like that, trading adventures and I began to grow fonder still of Jack. But that's not even the important part, at least not in my opinion. What I wanted from Jack, what I needed from him was that he see you for who you really are. Partly because I know how anger can fester in a heart, how it grows. I don't want him meeting you again with that weighing on him. I know it's already happened...but you know what I mean.

I'll slip a few of the letters in here and there so you can see what we've talked about. And yes, there's plenty of gossiping about you!

Until next time, Doctor,

Love across the stars.

Love, Amy.

 


	149. June 19, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

19th of June, 1955

Dear Doctor,

Our littlest one woke up this morning with a case of the sniffles. And so with Amy away on a book tour I decided to keep Vickie home. She's napping now on the sofa next to me but we've had a delightful day. We've spent most of it watching movies, eating popcorn and being silly. Not too long ago Melody brought us a little transmitter. So I start a movie on the laptop and it broadcasts to the telly. Vicki is six and she doesn't know or care about how its happening. All she does know is that she wants to watch The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer with Cary Grant over and over and over again.

You remind me of a man.

What man?

The man with the power.

What power?

The power of Hoodoo!

Who-do?

You do!

Do what?

Remind me of a man!

What man?

We go on and on like that usually as fast as we can manage getting sillier and more exaggerated with each go until she collapses in giggles like it's the funniest joke she's ever heard.

She's the grandest little thing I've ever seen. Smart as a whip, strong, clever, spirited, contemplative but with a bit of a saucy mouth on her as well. She is no doubt Amy's daughter and I love her so deeply there are times when I feel close to bursting because of it.

I hold little individual boxes of terror in my heart with each of my children's names inscribed on them. Melody's box is simply marked Unknown or at times Final Adventure. Anthony's reads Vietnam. Vicki's reads segregation. Amy and I change our minds every so often about what to do when it comes to her schooling. There's a private school in Manhattan that we're considering. My daughter will never sit in the back of a bus. She will never worry about what fountain she drinks from. She will never worry about what shop or restaurant she can enter. And if Manhattan cannot provide her that security or the States at large then perhaps we'll have to send her overseas. There are excellent boarding schools in France and there has been a certain amount of integration there since the 1800's. I could bear that. Being parted from her, I mean. Amy and I could bear that if we had to, though it wouldn't be easy. That's years away. Not now of course, she's just a baby. But later...perhaps.

Good God, is this the world I fought for? Is this what I fought to maintain?

It's not just our fear for her safety, it's that I don't want anyone daring to put limitations on what she can do. The next 20 years will see an incredible change in this world. 1975 is going to look a hell of a lot different than 1955. I want her to know that. I want her to know what she can do and achieve. I want her to know her only option isn't finding a good husband and settling down.

Darling, you know you can be anything you want, right?

I know, Daddy. She said in that Oh Dad dismissive sort of way I knew I'd have to get used to for her teenage years. We were relaxing on the couch and she was lying on my chest playing with my watch.

But really, Vicky. You can go to college, you can be a doctor-

Like you! She said with a grin.

Exactly, like me. I did start off as a nurse though.

Boys can't be nurses! She laughed.

Not true. I said giving her a tickle. Boys can be nurses and you my little love can be anything. You could be a writer like your mum, you could be an archeologist like your big sister. I just want to make certain you understand that no matter what happens you can do anything.

I put my finger under her wee chin so she'd look up at me.

Are you listening to Daddy?

Uh-huh. Can we go to the library now?

We can't go to the library, love, because you're sick. But maybe tomorrow, I promise.

I smiled at her and tickled her until her pout turned into a grin.

My children loved reading and they adored the library. It started off as a Sunday tradition. I'm fairly certain I got them both library cards as soon as they expressed even the slightest interest and from then on, every week began with a trip to get new books and return old ones.

My son, Vitus had a love of learning as well. For his 14th birthday I wanted to gift him with a surprise. I hired several hands to look after the farm during our absence and then one morning I awakened him.

Son, rouse yourself or we'll miss our boat.

Our boat? He'd asked stretching and yawning on his cot as I grinned down at him like an idiot. Papa what are you talking about?

Our trip. We're going away for awhile and we need to hurry.

His eyes brightened as he knew I was planning something. Sitting up quickly he gave me his excited grin.

Is this for my birthday?

I'll answer no questions now. I teased him. Get dressed and pack a bag! We have to make haste!

He did as I asked and spent the whole rest of our walk to the port pestering me for details. I rather gleefully put him off and he became more excited as we boarded the ship. I'd never spoken all that fondly about traveling so his bewilderment was palpable. We found our small quarters and settled in and we both laughed as he peppered me with questions.

I'd told him about many places that I'd seen and travelled to over the years. He always seemed fascinated by my stories and inevitably at the end he asked me the same thing.

Can we go there some day, Papa?

To which I would respond.

You should go when you're a man. You should explore and journey and learn. Home will always be here waiting for you when you need it.

But I want to go with you, Pater.

I know...

It was at that point that I would inevitably look towards the barn that housed the Pandorica. In those early days, those first few hundred years I couldn't bear to be more than a few feet away from it. But as time passed, as the centuries eked by I became a bit more at ease. There was something permanent about the Pandorica. It moved through time while never really becoming a part of it, just like I did. There was a part of me that began to awaken and as fiercely as I protected it and protected Amy within it, that new part of me realized I could always, always get her back. If she were ever lost, I knew I could find her. That reassuring feeling began in me with Vitus. I now realize that had it not blossomed inside my mind and heart I might very well have gone mad.

Three nights into our journey Vitus awakened from what I imagine was a dead sleep and shouted; ALEXANDRIA!

The absolute joy on his little face made my heart ache.

Am I right, Papa? Am I?!

You're right, you're right. I said with a boisterous laugh that was a bit too loud for it being so late.

We're going to the Library? And I could hear the happiness and disbelief in his voice.

The trip seemed to take ages but we just used it to let our excitement build. When we arrived and docked in the Great Harbor we began our walk towards the structure.

I'd taught him several ancient languages, well, not ancient then and as we stood outside the building I asked him;

What does it say, Vitus? Read it aloud.

He squeezed my hand and began.

We erect this place to Clio, Erato, Calliope, Euterpe, Melpomene, Terpsichore, Thalia, Urania and Polyhymnia. They are our muses and we dedicate to them this temple...this  _museum_. We ask that they bless all who visit here and sing through all those who contribute.

Shall we go inside?

He nodded and so we did.

The rumors, the stories, the theories don't do it justice. Not even remotely so. Vitus could barely contain himself and I admit I was feeling much the same. We couldn't decide what to do first. There were classes going on, research being conducted and then there was the information available. We were surrounded by at least 700 thousand scrolls. Nearly the sum and total of human knowledge up until that point all at our fingertips.

Euclid. Manetho. Eratosthenes. Hipparchus. Apollonius. Heron. All their wisdom, all their brilliance, there for us explore. And then there were the scholars that just breezed past us who I pointed out to my son excitedly. It's fairly safe to say we spent the next week nerding out. Vitus was a quick reader and he consumed the works there nearly as fast as I did. We essentially audited as many courses as we could. It became harder and harder to get him to go to sleep each night and one evening, after he nodded off and fell face first onto a copy of the work of Archimedes I had to carry him back to our lodging.

I cradled him in my arms as I walked through the darkened streets, his gangly, skinny arms and legs swaying gently with each step I took. As I tucked him in and kissed his forehead he awoke briefly and smiled up at me sleepily.

Thank you, Papa.

When it was regretfully time to leave we gathered our things and headed back towards the dock. It broke my heart to hear of the fire that ravaged and destroyed the library all those years later. As we left, we stopped inside the Caesareum and stepping inside the temple we gazed up at the three mighty obelisks called Cleopatra's Needles. In truth they weren't built by Cleopatra. They were over a thousand years old when she was living. I took Vitus' hand and together we reached out to touch the sculpted stones.

Just last week Amy, the kids and I went to the Metropolitan Museum. In 1881 the three obelisks were moved from Alexandria and re erected, one in London, one in Paris and one in New York. I had touched the one in London and while it felt familiar I knew it wasn't  _ours_ , the one Vitus and I had touched. But when I took Anthony's hand and Vicki's and all of us, Amy too, touched the one in Manhattan, I knew it was right. And I pictured the two of us, Vitus and I, our hands upon the stone in one century as Amy and I and our children did the same in another. And I felt us, all of us echo back and forward through time.

At least, that's what it felt like.

I'm crying now. I always cry when I think of my first child. The wound, the loss of him never heals. It's always there, raw and open, a chronic sore, an ulcer tattooed on my very being. I loved him, Doctor. I loved him so much. When I close my eyes I can still see his face, hear his voice, feel his hand in mine.

I cling fiercely to my children, all of them, Melody, Anthony, Vicki. Losing them, any one of them would break me. That's why I will send Victoria to France if need be. That's why I will send Anthony to the ends of the earth to avoid Vietnam if I have to. That's why if I even get the hint again that coming back here is putting her in danger I will write to you and demand that you prevent Melody from ever, ever coming back to see us again. That's why Amy and I would send them both off this planet and thousands of years into the future with their older sister if it would save their lives. I can't feel that again, that absence in the heart we felt when Melody was taken. The gnawing, darkness I still feel about my first little boy whose name I never speak aloud.

Vitus. It's Latin for life.. And for far too brief a time, he was mine.

But I have my memories. Time and a rebooted universe couldn't rob me of that. I loved taking him to Alexandria, just as I love taking my babies to the library now.

Nearly two millennia later the scene plays out the same. We walk through the door, hand in hand. And in a moment of excitement they burst away from me and head for the stacks, in search of some new and grand adventure.

The symmetry of it all soothes me and even in those short and swift stabs of remembrance and pain, I am happy again.

I cannot imagine having a bad time in a library.

Thanks for listening, Doctor. All my love.

Love,

Rory


	150. June 26, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of June, 1955

Dearest Doctor,

Melody gave us the delightful anniversary present of taking her siblings off our hands for an evening. She said they were off to Hedgewick's World of Wonders with plans to just tell Vicki that it's Disneyland...even though Disneyland won't officially be open for another month.

I can tell Anthony is eager to get his big sister away from us so he can pepper her with questions. I don't envy the inquisition she's in for.

I should probably tell you now that I am very, very drunk at the moment...Amy wants me to tell you she's drunk as well. 26 years, love, 26 years deserves a few dozen glasses of champagne don't you think?

The booze is actually from Winston along with a cadre of cigars. I tried smoking one but I hated the taste and Amy made me put it out and toss it into the toilet. We both thought that was absurdly funny.

There's no traditional gift for ones 26th anniversary though common wisdom says a picture is the way to go. I went through some of the images on my phone and found a favorite. A picture I'd snapped after Amy and I had called off the split. She looks a bit teary in it and so do I and off to the side you can just see the charred, curled pages of our divorce papers in in a little bowl. We're red eyed but we're smiling. I had that blown up and framed. She loved it.

The old Roman in me had a difficult time of breaking with tradition last year for our silver jubilee and as a special gift I had a headband commissioned of silver laurel leaves just for Amy. In Rome it was traditional to present your wife with a silver wreath on your 25th anniversary. 24 years from now I'll have a gold one made just for her.

Remember how you took us to us back to Cwmtaff in 2020. It was just a short stop, wedged somewhere in between the dinosaurs and Manhattan and a dozen other things. But we both wanted to do it; to wave at the past while the past waved back at us. We felt we owed it to them, that Amy and Rory of days gone by.

Back then Amy didn't think we'd make it 10 years and I admit I had my doubts as well. But here we are. And we never would have gotten here without you.

I danced with my wife tonight and were you here or we there I would have danced with you too. I would have danced and laughed and taken you both to bed and debauched the night away until we were properly exhausted. I'm drunk so I have license to speak so scandalously. But in all truth we would have had a glorious time. As it was, Amy and I had to settle for just an absolutely, fantastically marvelous day.

Amy wants me to tell you specifically to stop moping. She says she can feel it. She doesn't know where you are or what's wrong but she knows...you're upset about something. She wants me to tell you if you need to you can always stop in to see us, the younger us.

My God...and there you are. I close my eyes for a moment and there you go, popping up just as bright and true in my memory. Her's as well. We were outside in the garden, picking tomatoes off the vine and all of a sudden, there's the TARDIS. You opened the door, beckoned us inside. Everything looked perfectly normal but I know for a fact Amy told me that Melody told her you'd changed the desktop. Did you change it back just to come round for us?

We barely had time to note the... _weariness_  on your face but I see it now. In my minds eye. You took us to a planet called Batai. Somehow or another we wound up in jail, shenanigans ensued. But that wasn't the important part. The important part is we were back together again.

So Amy was right. You are reading and you were sad. Did we make you feel better, Doctor? You smiled when you dropped us off. You didn't look quite as tired. We gave you the tomatoes we'd been picking. You hugged us so hard. Harder than usual but you stopped just before we started to question it. You don't have to stop next time. Let that Amy and Rory wonder why you're so clingy. What harm could it do? Hug us as long as you like.

Now we're both a bit teary but my goodness new memories of you make us feel warm and happy. What a lovely anniversary gift, Doctor. Thank you.

You know what we'll do, we'll make a calendar! We'll go through our old, old journals from the 21st century and we'll look at all the ordinary days. All the days we had without you. We'll mark a date and that will let you know all the times where you can drop in and see us. All three of us can have new memories, new...old adventures. We'll use it sparingly. It'll be a treat, a special treat on special days. Or maybe just days when we need it.

I'm glad we didn't think of this before, I worry we might have used them all up by now.

So...what do you say, Doctor?

Your Rory and Amy.

P.S. When we checked the post there was a postcard in the mail. No return address. No signature. Just one word written on it.

"Okay."

This is brilliant! We're both so happy you agreed and we'll start working on it immediately.

So, cheers, love.

To meetings yet to come.

To adventures yet to be remembered.

A universe full of love,

Your Ponds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to answer a few questions regarding Cwmtaff specifically. I'm of the opinion that Amy and Rory and the Doctor and River were, are and always will be at the center of the TARDIS explosion in one way or another. Meaning essentially, they were outside of time when certain events were happening around them. They will always be able to recall things they shouldn't. I happen to believe there's tremendous bleed over from one universe to another and one timestream to another especially surrounding the four of them. In addition to this you also have to take into account the crack in Amy's wall and all that time energy pouring into her head. So, in my mind Cwmtaff happened because it already did happen and it always will happen.


	151. July 9, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence **Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams to** Sir Winston S. Churchill**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Sir Winston Churchill

Chartwell

Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent,

TN16 1PS

9th of July, 1955

My Dearest Winston,

You're around two months into retirement now and I wonder how its suiting you? How are you getting on? I know it was hard to finally turn the reins over to Eden but if you'll allow a little pragmatism to break through the clouds of your doom and gloom, what's done is done. You served Britain when she needed you and that won't ever be forgotten.

I was wondering if perhaps you could do with a visit? I'm booked in London in August and I'd love to pop by for a long overdue chat? I'd love to bring Rory as well but as you know only one of us can leave Manhattan at a time.

It pains me to hear that you are in ill health and I don't like the idea of you isolating yourself. Believe it or not, there's still more life to be lived. And no, I won't tell you how much!

Trust me, it's not all that much fun knowing.

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Amy


	152. July 28, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Captain Jack Harkness to **Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams****

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**28th of July, 1955**

Apologies

By Millers Pond

That's where I felt the need to offer help.

Lying by bluegrass.

A restful state.

Late August.

19 and 21

Glad he'd come.

Lovely peace,

with safe, strong arms


	153. July 29, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

29th of July, 1955

Dear Doctor,

I may not be available for awhile. I can't tell you why just yet. But I promise as soon as it's possible I'll write you again.

But, just in case...I love you, you know that.

And remember your promise. Remember what I  _made_  you promise when Rory went into the hospital in '44.

You won't leave him alone. here. You will not leave him or our children alone.

You keep your word, Raggedy Man.

All my love,

Your Amy

 


	154. July 29, 1955 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

29th of July, 1955

I've gone from mystified, to understanding to angry to resigned all in the past 24 hours. Now I'm just exhausted. Amy is asleep at my side, makeup a bit smeared, tear streaks drying on her cheeks, but still her body is curved towards mine. We made up, sort of and we'll patch whatever else needs patching tomorrow...before she leaves.

I can't remember the last time we've had a row like that. Maybe after Adora's death...maybe not. Maybe this precedence stretches all the way back to our almost divorce.

Anyway, the point is everything started with Jack's letter and fell apart from then on out.

Amy showed it to me not long after it appeared on the psychic paper. He'd been writing to both of us over the years. Sometimes we discussed our conversations with him amongst ourselves, other times we kept it quiet. I could tell he was talking about different things to both of us and that was ok. None of it was necessarily secretive, just private. That's why I knew something was wrong when Amy shoved the paper in front of me.

I read it and then read it again. A poem? That seems a bit unlikely.

Amy nodded.

It's encrypted in some way. Something he needed to tell us, me but he's afraid of it being seen. Why? The psychic paper is completely secure, I don't believe there's anyone on this planet who could intercept it.

We both looked at each at the same time as the truth of her words echoed in the room. She sat down next to me, pulled out a pencil and pad and we went to work. We tried every cipher we knew and after awhile the pencils fell to the table and we just stared at the message.

Without a key I'm not sure how we're supposed to figure this out. Maybe he meant to include one but he accidentally skipped it.

Skip. She said suddenly. That's it!

What?

Skip code!

What's that?

Something Canton told me once, a long time ago. Bugger, how does it go...

She thought for a moment and then started scratching on the paper.

First word then every third.

**Apologies**

By Millers  **Pond**

That's where  **I** felt the  **need** to offer  **help**.

Lying by  **bluegrass**.

A restful  **state**.

Late  **August**.

19 and  **21**

Glad he'd  **come**.

Lovely peace,

 **with** safe, strong  **arms**

Apologies Pond. I need your help. Bluegrass state. August 21. Come with arms.

Fuck. One of us muttered under our breath. I can't recall who.

If he felt he had to send this in code he must be scared, Properly scared. Amy said in a hushed voice.

Alright..alright, I'll go to him. I said nodding my head.

But she wasn't listening. She'd already started looking up Kentucky online and lining it up with the date.

As tempted as I was to read it I almost immediately turned off the laptop.

No, fixed points, remember. If you read it-

It has to happen. She concluded. You're right.

Exactly. Now, I've never heard anything about this event, have you?

Never.

Good, good then we can both take it as it comes.

We? No, Rory, he sent it to me. And you know only one of us can go anyway. Whatever is going on I have a feeling this isn't just a battle this is an infiltration. Look at the location. Remote. Isolated, farm country. This is a build up from all the other times Jack mentioned, all those other times we didn't go. I probably should have been there months ago. I need to pack.

Are we doing this? I asked as I trailed after her. Are we getting involved?

I don't think we have a choice.

Bullshit we don't have a choice.

It wasn't just that she was leaving. It wasn't just that she was leaving without discussion. It was that sparkle in her eyes that I recognized. That gleam that said, I've missed this.

And on top of or perhaps underlying all of that, was the truth of the matter that I was jealous.

What if I said you can't go?

She turned and looked at me slowly, her eyes cool.

Then I would kindly ask you to remember to whom you're speaking. This may be the 50's, Rory, but I am no ones docile housewife.

That was the Amy I remembered, the firebrand, the resolute Scot who would not be moved. I think I shouted something like that at her as derisively as I could and things pretty much disintegrated from there.

At one point I remember shouting, This isn't our life anymore!

This is always our life. She replied. Always and it always will be! You know that. Don't you tell me you haven't stopped yourself a hundred times a thousand times from pulling a weapon and shooting one of the Silents. We see them, everywhere, every day. You've read Jack's letters the same as I have, you know how active everything is here. She paused and eyed me before speaking again. You know you want this back.

I want peace and quiet. I said somewhat unconvincingly.

You want war. She countered quietly before heading towards our bedroom.

What do you propose we tell the kids?

Tell them Mummy left for work. Rory...I'm not just fine leaving them or you but...I have honor too, you know. You could have run, from the war, you could have gone to Canada or Europe. You could have had Melody forge a form and make you 4H but you didn't. You didn't because your word, your duty means something to you. This is my word and my duty. Just because we don't run with the Doctor anymore, doesn't mean we stop living as we do.

I understood why this started the tears or rather continued the tears. The weight of what she was saying didn't escape me. And she was right, as always.

I've taken five vows in my life, some unofficial and private and some not. Five vows I've sworn to keep.

I vowed to be a priest. To serve and help and comfort the needy, the forlorn and the lost.

I vowed to be a doctor, to uphold the Hippocratic oath and practice medicine honestly and to the best of my ability.

I vowed to be the best husband I could be and to make certain my wife never had one moment where she doubted how much I loved her.

I vowed to be the best father to all my children, all of them, always and forever.

And finally...

I vowed to be extraordinary, to have hope, to fight for what was right and good and just in the universe. I vowed to never turn down a request for help.

In short...I vowed to always be a Companion.

Of course, she had to go. I would have had to go too.

Maybe someday I would.

I helped her pack a bit in acquiescent silence before summoning the courage to speak.

If something happened to you...it would destroy me.

Amy dropped what she was doing and catapulted herself into my arms.

Nothing will happen to me, I promise. I _promise_.

But I could feel the tears start anew for her and me.

In a few hours we'll call a cab and she'll head to LaGuardia.

I'm imagining this is how she felt when I was drafted. Helpless, frightened and resigned.

Rory?

I thought she was asleep.

Yeah?

You know leaving you isn't easy. Leaving the kids isn't easy. We were going to wait until the children were older, I know. But I don't think there is ever a right time. Maybe this is part of the reason we were sent back. Maybe this is our job and it always will be.

Maybe so, baby. Maybe somewhere along the line Doctor Life became Real Life.

She paused before replying.

Maybe it always was.

I think that's all for now. I'm a bit too tired and worried and sad to write anymore. I may not even have time to put pen to paper for the next few days as I'll be busy taking care of the kids. I doubt I'll have much to say anyway.


	155. July 30, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

30th of July 1955

There's the feeling you think you're going to get when you say goodbye to your children and then there's the feeling that actually washes over you. The pain. The guilt. The ache you don't believe will ever go away. The only good thing about it is they had no idea where I was going. As we agreed, Rory and I told them I had to go somewhere for work and since that wasn't a strange occurrence they nodded, kissed and hugged me goodbye. I was the one who hung on a bit too long and whose eyes got a bit too shiny. They didn't seem to notice. Far too busy with breakfast and cartoons and plans for the day ahead. Rory and I waited for the cab to arrive standing outside on our porch.

My goodbye to him was even harder. I had a moment of panic where I thought, why I am doing this? Why am I pulling us both back into this? All of that left my head when he actually gave me his blessing.

Go. Save the world. The kids and I will be waiting.

And then he kissed me in that Rory way of his. The way that melts away all doubt and fear and questioning. I told him I loved him, hopped into a cab and the next thing I knew I was here. Sitting in first class aboard a rumbly DC7 heading to Hopkinsville Airport.

I wrote to Jack on the plane. All I gave him was the time I'd be landing but I knew he'd be able to figure but what I meant.

When I deplaned, grabbed my bags and made my way to the terminal, there he was. He was smiling but he looked tired. Honestly he looked like I felt. As I got nearer to him I opened my mouth to say hello but before I could speak Jack he gathered me in his arms, dipped me backwards and kissed me.

I barely had time to react before he'd righted me again.

Welcome home, darlin'. How was your flight? Miss me?

Mmmhmm. I replied still a bit too stunned to answer.

Them's your bags? Jus' let me tote 'em 'fore you.

I let him take my luggage and when he slipped an arm around my waist and started leading me towards the door I simply smiled and leaned closer to his face.

Everything alright? I whispered.

Better safe than sorry. He answered back. I've got a car out front.

I walked at his side our pace slow and leisurely. I didn't notice anything odd in the airport. No one seemed to be looking at us. For the most part I believed we were blending in. Still, there was something about Jack's demeanor that was making me tense.

I only relaxed a bit once we got into his truck and on the road.

You like it? It's a '52 Chevy pickup. I love this car. I need to find some way to keep this car after this is all over.

So...is it ok to...?

Talk now? Absolutely. The interior is clean. First off, sorry for surprising you with that kiss. Everything has to look real.

That's ok, I figured there was a reason behind it.

And second of all thank you for coming.

We were at a stoplight and he turned to look at me with sad and grateful blue eyes.

Jack, of course I came. You needed me and here I am.

I leaned over and pulled him in for a hug and our embrace continued even after the light turned green and didn't stop until the car behind us blew his horn.

Alright, alright! Jack said motioning behind him as we set off again. I noticed him wipe at his eyes as he put his foot heavy to the gas pedal.

What's been going on? I asked quietly.

Uh...It's been hard. Travelling around for the past couple of years. Fighting. Never really being able to stay in one place. I never even realized I wanted that until I absolutely couldn't have it. But enough about me.

He sniffled, blinked a few times and continued.

I set up a bit of a backstory for us, you're my wife. We inherited a family farm from a distant relation of mine. You were clearing a few things up back home before you joined me.

Wife? I asked as I smoothed my hair nervously. Jack I'm nearly 51.

And I'm 124, so what? Doesn't that husband of yours tell you how gorgeous you are?

Frequently, though his opinion is hardly to be trusted.

Amy, you look amazing. And the truth is if I didn't think it would work or people would believe it I would have come up with a different lie. A sister, a cousin. I went with what's believable. Okay?

Okay. I nodded.

I'm much more concerned about your accent. I'm going to need to give you a crash course.

I'm in your capable hands.

First some history. Ok, around the 1700's when the Carolina's, Pennsylvania and Virginia started filling up, the Scotch, your people, and the Irish immigrants were getting pushed farther and farther West. Eventually they wound up in the Appalachia. While time and dialect have changed you can still hear just a hint of that familiar brogue if you listen to how they pronounce things like, bear as bahr.

I looked at him doubtfully but Jack continued.

Whar for where, Thar for there, dar for dare. Then there's poosh, boosh, eetch, deesh for push, itch, dish. Long vowels. Can you hear it? After a while the familiarity of it should get stuck in your ear and on your tongue.

Damned if he wasn't right. It did sound a bit like the way I naturally spoke

Remember to drop your T's but you sort of do that naturally anyway. Drawl and trill. Just remember that, drawl and trill. We'll practice. So, I figure it's safest to say we're from North Carolina, maybe the Virginia border. I've got some clothes for you at the house because right now you look a bit too city-fied. We'll head to the farm, study up and make our debut at church on Sunday.

Ok, sounds good.

He'd been talking a mile a minute and I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

Jack. I said simply and he took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. I'm here now. You're not alone.

He nodded and I saw him sigh deeply as the words seemed to eventually sink in.

Now, is there a working kitchen at this farm house? Any food?

Why are you going to make me dinner? He asked with a glint in his eye.

Oh no, dear  _we're_  going to make dinner together. You're going to catch me up on everything I need to know and then we're going to relax and forget all about it for a night. I'm going to write Rory and the kids and let them know I got here safely. You and I are going to listen to music, have a few drinks and relax like the old friends we are. Deal?

Deal.

So, that's what we did. And in fact we had an alright evening. At least we did once he'd explained to me what we were up against. I can't lie, I'm scared. But even though my brain was running a million miles a minute I was physically exhausted and not long after he'd shown me to my room I was fast asleep.

His scream woke me up.

I jumped out of bed only then realizing I'd fallen asleep fully clothed. Grabbing my gun I rushed to his bedroom and found him sitting straight up, struggling to catch his breath. I scanned the room and found it empty and put the safety back on. Hurrying over to the bed I put my arm around his shoulder, he was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.

Jack, what happened?

S-sorry, Red. Nightmare. They've been happening more and more over the last few years.

He glanced at my gun.

Didn't mean to scare you. I'm glad you didn't come in shooting.

I laughed a little as I felt my heart rate returning to normal.

This ain't my first time at the rodeo. I said, making use of my new accent. Are you really ok?

Fine, fine. You go on back to bed.

I eyed him for a moment before saying; hang on sec.

I headed back to my bedroom, picked up my journal and a pen and came back to him.

What are you doing?

Keeping you company. I've found that nothing keeps the nightmares and demons away like another warm body keeping watch.

Amy you don't have to do that. I wouldn't ask it-

You didn't ask. I offered. I said making myself comfortable on the bed. You sleep, I have some writing to do anyway.

He looked at me and that gratitude returned to his eyes again.

Thank you. He said softly.

Hush now, I'm used to comforting sad boys from the stars. Go to sleep, Jack.

After a few moments he was dozing. I pulled the covers over him and started writing this.

Tomorrow promises to be another day of studying, going over facts and figures and strategies.

But for now we both need rest.

I'm loathe to leave Jack alone so I'll just hunker down here.

Hunker. That sounds like a good southern words doesn't it? Maybe I'm getting the hang of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, John Barrowman was 38 when he first appeared on Doctor Who so I'm going to assume that's Jack's age as well. So, if Jack got sent back to 1869 at age 38 and it's now 1955 then he's lived through 86 years on Earth and that would make him 124. Incidentally, this means he's 176 when he meets Martha and the Doctor in 2007/Utopia.
> 
> I'm giving Amy some insecurities about her looks but honestly I'm working under the assumption she looks great. She doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, lives in a time of lower pollution, she's had a lifetime of (albeit debatably) better/healthier food and probably absolutely amazing futuristic face creams. :) We saw her at 57 in The Girl Who Waited and she looked incredible. Both our Ponds are getting older but I think compared to their contemporaries, they look, sound and behave shockingly youthful.


	156. August 5, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence **Captain Jack Harkness to Dr. Rory Williams**  
**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

August 5, 1955

Hello Major,

Captain Jack Harkness checking in with a reconnaissance report.

I just wanted to let you know everything is fine, Rory. Amy is safe and sound, as you already know and so far we've just had a string of ordinary days. We spent today in church as a matter of fact. It's been a long time since they've let the likes of me into a place like that but I did surprisingly well. Kept the flirting to a minimum, managed not to swear or blaspheme and I sang so well they asked me to join the choir. I may take them up on it. The choir director is gorgeous and he doesn't even know he's gay yet. I have to admit, those conquests are my favorite.

As for your wife...she is, in the slang of this time, boss. Good natured, high spirited, game. She's in marvellous shape, she's funny and charming, she's got everyone here wrapped around her little finger. All the women want her to join every club and board imaginable and I keep getting compliments on my choice of wife. Though I suppose that's something you're used to.

Am I gushing? I feel like I may be gushing but...well, she's just wonderful. I couldn't have done this without her, in more ways than one. She's also been very kind when it comes to some habits I'm not very proud of. The last few years have worn me down a bit. I have terrible dreams sometimes, I wake up sweating, screaming... And she never even blinks. She just tends to me. It's been a very long time since I've had a woman take care of me. It's nice.

Anyway, I think it's safe to write to one another now. I just wanted to make certain Amy arrived before I chanced it. The truth is I may have been paranoid to begin with. Either way the Thrashke know I'm here, so they know they're in for a fight. Are you familiar with them? Amy wasn't.

Yours,

Captain Jack Harkness


	157. August 6, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Dr. Rory Williams to **Captain Jack Harkness**  
**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of August, 1955

Dear Jack,

I  _hate_  it when you address me as Major and I can only assume that's why you persist in doing it.

It's true, Amy is everything you said and more, so much more. But she can also be headstrong and short-sided. She's an incredible strategist except when she gets too excited and decides to bulldoze through everything and everyone. I warn you, it's been awhile since she's seen action and she's liable to have an itchy trigger finger. Keep her calm, keep her focused, even in training. I would tell you to tell her to keep the banter to a minimum but I'm afraid that would be the black pot making a ridiculous and impossible demand of the black kettle. Both of you do enjoy a good chin wag, so I'll just leave it.

As for the Thrashke, no, I haven't heard of them. I would look them up but I'm afraid of messing about with timelines and such. I hate this, I hate, presumably, having the information and not being able to make use of it.

Well, tell me everything you know about them.

And while we're at it, tell me this as well, is there any particular reason my wife is so near your bedside that she can comfort you when you awaken from bad dreams?

Inquiring minds and all that.

-Yours,

Rory

 _Husband_  of Amy Pond who is still very much in possession of his service pistol.

 


	158. August 7, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Captain Jack Harkness to Dr. Rory Williams**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

August 7, 1955

Dear Amy's Husband Who Has A Large Gun And Knows How To Use It,

I'll absolutely do my best to keep her cool under fire. I believe you, of course but the Amy that I've seen is all business. Maybe it's different once the bullets actually start to fly. But at the moment, she is single minded and relentless. I trust her with my life and indeed, when the times comes, she'll have it in her hands.

But I don't want you to think for one second I'll be careless. I'm immortal, for lack of a better word, she isn't and I wouldn't have her hurt, I promise you that. Should it come down to my life or hers you know, or at least I hope you do that there would be no hesitation on my part. I've died before, many times, even in this fight with the Thrashke, I've met my end. I'm not afraid. You have my word, Amy will come back to you safe and sound. I swear to you, on my life.

Now, as for the Thrashke they're scavengers, a seeding race and a nasty one. Their physical bodies are temporary, not very big and not very strong. If this were hand to hand combat they'd be pretty easy to overcome. But its not.

When I was just a kid we called them The Hollowers. They're kind of the stuff of nightmares. After a devastating war or a plague, before the bodies stiffen and rot, they swoop in, like spores or dandelion fluff they float and dissipate and converge. They work their way into the corpses and reanimate them. It's revolting but it's how they survive. I don't know if the Doctor ever told you but there are entire planets, even solar systems that are on indefinite quarantine because the Thrashke have taken over. Usually they wait, usually they're patient. As best I can figure this group put all their chips on WWII, when the bombs didn't go off like they assumed they would killing most every human on the planet this band didn't have a plan B. So they're trying something unprecedented, they're trying to do it by force.

One got me...Japan back in '48. What he didn't count on was that I have a nasty habit of coming back to life. I woke up and I could feel this thing...eating me from the inside out, not my flesh but my consciousness, my soul. Two objects can't occupy the same place and eventually, after a fight, I won. But that was why I dropped off the radar for awhile. That's why I stopped writing to Amy in 1950. I just couldn't stand those memories anymore, that feeling of having something alien and dark inside me.

Anyways, this is going to be a firefight, it always is, but I'm hoping to send them a message this time, a definitive one. I've met them head on, each and every time they've tried this and I've driven them back. They've got to see, once and for all that earth just isn't worth the trouble.

I hope that answered your question though I'm sure it probably brought up a lot more.

In any case, Rory, I don't have any designs on your wife. She's perfect, absolutely perfect but...she's yours and you're hers.

I know my place, so feel free to holster that pistol.

And she'd have none of it.

Anyway, write back. It's good to talk to you, despite the circumstances.

-Jack


	159. August 10, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records** **  
** **Marker: Personal Correspondence From Captain Jack Harkness to Doctor Rory Williams** **  
** **Frequency: Intermittent** **  
** **Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper Kelly-Hopkinsville, Kentucky- Manhattan New York, New York**

10 of August, 1955

Dear Jack,

I can't say I'll be getting any sleep tonight after that explanation of who and what the Thrashke are. For the record, I don't want you throwing yourself in front of a bullet for Amy, for several reasons actually.

1) That would leave her alone and the last thing I want is her to have to face this by herself.

2) In addition to being alone she'd have to care for your dead body, which trust me is no easy feat.

3) When and where you resurrect would cause problems. People in 2023 had been through a Dalek invasion, ships and planets in the sky, Gallifrey coming back, Cybermen in the streets, the Macra invasion, the Zygon, the Judoon and they'd _still_   get a bit dodgy about a man in WW2 greatcoat coming back to life. Imagine what folks in the 50's would think?

4) I like you. Temporary or not, I'd rather you didn't die any time soon.

Just look after her and yourself.

Since I can't tell her, I'm telling you, this is hard, Jack. We've rarely been separated like this. When the Doctor would take us on a trip we'd all be together. Ok, sometimes one of might get lost but it was on accident. We never crashed head first into danger. Ok...maybe sometimes we did. The Doctor had a taste for danger but...it was never like this. I never felt so helpless, so...impotent. If you could have seen the look on her face when I told her that I could always forbid her to go. Crikey, you've never seen anything like that in your life, trust me. I'd rather face down twenty Nazi's backed up by Daleks than my wife when I've foolishly used the word forbid.

I always knew, that when we were off with him, the Doctor would protect her. Always. He was the only one I trusted and I knew he loved her as much me.

Anyway, the holy terrors that are my children are demanding a trip to the park and Spartacus, the dear old soul, could do with a walk.

We'll talk later.

Take care,

Rory

* * *

Dear Rory,

Understood. I am under strict orders not to die.

You said once that you and Amy traveled with the Doctor for ten years? That's a long time for a young couple and especially a young married couple.

When you say he loved her as much as you did, what do you mean?

I figured I'd ask since we're being so cozy.

Jack

* * *

Dear Jack,

Yeah, ten years off and on. A very long time and yet, far, far too short.

As for your last question the answer isn't as sordid as you might hope it to be.

-Rory

...alright, it might be a little sordid.

* * *

Dear Rory,

Have you always been this stingy with details?

* * *

LOL. You call it stingy, mate. I call it refusing to provide you with masturbatory gossip.

Did I seriously just use LOL in 1955?

* * *

So it's worth masturbating to then?!

* * *

You're incorrigible. Not to mention you told me you kissed him. What makes you think I have any more information than you do?

* * *

Why do I think her encounter involved a bit more than kissing? Maybe because of the dreamy look she got in her eyes when the three of us and Melody were all trading stories that evening at your house.

* * *

You're right. Our encounter did involve more than a simple kiss.

* * *

Our? You wrote  _our_? Is that a typo?

* * *

Goodnight, mate, I've got an early day tomorrow and I need to say goodnight to Amy. Tell that wife of mine to pick up pen and paper.

* * *

You're leaving it there?! Goddamn it, Rory.

 


	160. August 11, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11 of August, 1955

Dear Doctor,

You're upset with me, I know. You're probably pacing around the console, fuming, maybe even swearing. But deep down you know there's nothing you could have done to stop this. And I don't mean anything about any silly paradoxes, I mean that even if you were right here, right now, there's nothing you could have done.

You can't honestly say you're disappointed in me can you? You made me this way and I mean that as a compliment not an accusation. Melody once told me that one of your fears, one of your greatest fears is that you turn your friends into weapons. You take these innocent people, fashion them into warriors and then send them off on suicide missions. But that isn't so. What you do is take people, hold a mirror up to them and show them all the things they couldn't see on their own. All the ways they're special and smart and courageous and strong. That's what you did for me and Rory. I think that may be what you did for Jack as well. And that's why I'm here. That's why I had to come.

So sit down, Raggedy man. Stop pacing, stop pouting and just...just hold my hand a bit. I need you now.

At the moment, everything is fine. I just finished baking a pie as a matter of fact and in a half hour or so Jack and I will be headed over to the Strawberry Social. It's an annual party and there's going to be BBQ and dancing and singing and music and of course tons of strawberries. I'm actually looking forward to it. The people here have been so nice and welcoming though perhaps a bit conservative. Jack and I laugh to ourselves when we're back in the safety of our home at how scandalized they'd be if they knew what kinds of people we are.

There's church. There's always church and lots of it. And when there's not church there's church functions. I have somehow found myself on the Women's Auxiliary and I'm signed up to oversee the bake sale next month. Of course we won't actually be here next month but I have to keep up with the lie, don't I?

Ok, so now we come to it. The Thrashke. I know you've heard of them. You've heard of everybody and the truth is they've probably heard of you. They've been causing trouble here on earth for the past few years, popping up all over the country, scaring people half to death. But what's coming is different. Jack say its a turning point. This is the first time they really attack. And if they succeed we'd be at full scale war before the week was out.

I say war but the truth is they'd rout us before we even knew what was happening.

They need to know this planet is protected and defended and by more than just a few rifles which Jack tells me look like popguns to them.

I brought nearly every weapon Rory and I amassed over the years. Things certainly far beyond basic earth tech and a great deal of stuff that Torchwood hasn't even seen before. I'm prepared. We're prepared.

Jack is scared. He tries to hide it behind flirting and jokes but its there, just behind his eyes.

I've never seen Jack scared before

We train everyday and every night. I go to bed sore, with bruises and bumps. It's not as easy as it was when I was 20 or 30 for that matter. Jack says I'm in excellent shape but I am so enraged by my body. How dare it grow old when my mind is still as sharp as ever if not sharper. It feels like a betrayal and I know there are more to come. I don't like to think about the day when Rory and I wont be able to keep up anymore.

Jack is a taskmaster but I like it. I like the repetition, I like us quizzing one another, I like shouting or being shouted at to; Do it again. Faster this time!

I've missed this. In fact I know it's going to hurt quite a bit when it's all over. All I can think on days like this as I soak my weary muscles in epsom salt is how boring my life would have been without you. How I never would have even tried to reach my potential.

You know why I'm telling you this, because you're so angry right now. Your body is all tense and tight, you've got your lips smashed together in a thin little line and that jaw is working furiously back and forth. You're all nervous energy and stillness. You think this is your doing.

And it is, and that's not a bad thing.

If I were there I'd plant myself in your lap and force you out of this bad mood. I'd wrap my arms around your neck and bury my face against that tweed jacket. I loved that jacket. It looked a bit scratchy but it felt soft, kinda like you. And it always smelled like the nape of your neck. I loved your hugs partly because it allowed me to recharge myself by way of that smell.

Stop being angry with yourself and stop being angry with me.

I'm going to be around for years to come, Doctor, and there's no getting around that.

I know this isn't what you wanted, but you'll be there to the end of me.

Two weeks down and two weeks left.

I'll write when I can.

Love,

Amy


	161. August 14, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

14th of August 1955

Dear Doctor,

We met the Suttons today. It couldn't have happened any better. There's a late season carnival that arrived in town and Jack and I thought it would be a good idea to go, mingle, keep our profile up. We held hands and strolled through the grounds all the while keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

At one point Jack asked me if I wanted anything and I was dying for some candyfloss!

How you can even think of eating after riding the teacups is beyond me.

I'm a Scot, we have stomachs of iron.

Must be the haggis. He said before kissing my cheek and heading off to find my treat.

While he was gone I settled back on a bench and just people watched. It was a chilly night but no one seemed to mind. The children were running about screaming with parents laughing and chasing after them, trying to keep up. It made me miss my babies. I know how much fun they'd have here and how much Rory and I would enjoy bringing them.

Here you are, love. Jack said handing me a massive amount of pink spun sugar and I dove into it happily.

So, have you noticed anything? I asked him.

Nope, nothing so far. Shouldn't be long now. I imagine they're already here. He narrowed his eyes and scanned past the crowd to the thick forest that bordered the carnival.

I leaned closer to him and offered him some of the floss.

Last time I was at a travelling fair I was working it. He said.

What, you mean for Torchwood?

No, not exactly. And it was more of a circus than a fair.

Was it fun?

He frowned again.

No. No it wasn't.

Is that why you weren't sure you wanted to come?

Sort of...a little afraid of stirring up old ghosts. But even if that had been the case it would still be better to face them. What about you?

I haven't been to a fair in ages, not since I was a little girl. Wait...that's not true. The Doctor took me to a fair, the same fair I was at when I was a little girl so I could be the lady in the nightie that handed me the ice cream after I'd just dropped it to make me feel better.

The Doctor took you back in time so you could give yourself ice cream?

Yes...well, no. Yes and no. It was all part of a bigger lesson than that.

Jack looked at me for a moment before speaking.

Seven years old...how badly does that fuck a little girl up.

Not as badly as you'd think. I said defensively.

Shrinks?

Four.

Boyfriends?

One. Rory. But if you're talking about dates, well Mels and I were a terrible twosome who left a path of blokes in our wake.

I shrugged at the memory trying to play it off as a laugh. But the truth is I remember that nagging dissatisfaction with everyone and everything. It wouldn't let me settle.

Trying to psychoanalyze me, Harkness? I asked.

He shook his head and gazed off into the distance remaining silent..

Or are you intimating that because I met the Doctor, a man, as a little girl, that I was doomed to a promiscuous life abounding with meaningless love affairs with a string of nameless men and perhaps a few women?

No, I really wasn't-

But I cut him off.

Jack, the Doctor comes into your life and it's like an explosion, a super nova. Nothing is ever the same. It's not perfect. But that's life. Explosions hurt. But it doesn't have to destroy you.

Supernovae create new stars. He said turning to me after a moment a smile on his face that clearly read, truce.

I grinned back.

I'll take that compliment. So, Ferris wheel?

I thought I'd win one of those stuffed bears for you. Don't you want to see the Harkness magic? He said giving his bicep a flex.

I was just about to answer with something smart when a very little girl dashed up and climbed into my lap.

I've never seen hair like yours before. It's pretty!

Well thank you! I grew it myself! I replied and she giggled.

Can I have some of your cotton candy?

Of course you can.

She gladly grabbed a little handful of the sugar and happily started munching away.

What's your name, little one? I asked.

Amanda Sutton. What's yours?

I shared a brief glance with Jack before answering.

Amy Harkness and this is my husband Jack.

Amanda looked at him and giggled.

Cupping her sticky little hand to my ear she whispered; He's looks like Prince Charming.

I know. I whispered back. That's why I married him.

She giggled again and just as I was about to ask if anyone might be missing her a relieved looking man strode up.

Mandy there you are! Been looking for you everywhere. You shouldn't be troubling these nice people.

She was no trouble at all. Jack said with a smile before rising and extending his hand.

Jack Harkness.

Elmer Sutton. He replied giving Jack's hand a shake. And you've already met Mandy.

This is my wife, Amy.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am.

Likewise.

Harkness, didn't you folks buy the old Dugan place?

Inherited it as a matter of fact. Truth is if you're a Sutton.. We're kin.

Elmer furrowed his brow with interest and Jack continued.

Your Pa had a sister by the name of Maisy right? And when she was 15 she ran off with that travelling salesman from Missouri. Well he got her in the family way, they ended up getting married but he didn't stay too long. She never thought she could come back to Kentucky with a tarnished reputation and fatherless child so she just stayed in Missouri till the day she died. She did remarry, this fella from round about Pembroke but he had people near Lake Blythe, you know just up the road a piece from Boyd Cemetery? Anyways they was the Dugans, he was a Harkness and I took his last name since he all but raised me but truth is I'm Maisy's boy. I'm a Sutton.

How Jack managed to come up with that story much less get it out in such a coherent and believable manner blew me away. For a second I wondered was it too much, too intricate, too folksy to be believed. What if he'd gotten a bit of the names or geography wrong. I needn't have worried. Elmers face broke out in a grin.

Well is that a fact? Come to think of it from pictures I've seen you do sorta look like Aunt Maisy when she was young. Well I am sure sorry to hear she's passed. Daddy went onto his reward too a few summers back. But life do go on don't it. And...well welcome home cousin Jack!

He embraced Jack in a bear-hug which he returned all while laughing and clapping him on the back. Elmer hugged me as well and when he pulled back I saw how genuinely happy he seemed.

Well then we've got to be having you folks over for supper.

We'd like to have you first. Maybe show you how we fixed up the place.

It was in a state when we got it. I supplied.

The wife and I would like that.

Great, what about Saturday? Jack asked.

Only if we can have you round to our place on Sunday to return the favor.

I think we'd like that just fine. I said with a smile and Mandy grinned up at me.

And so that was how it happened, Doctor. The wheels are in motion.

Jack and I could have sworn when we looked up tonight as we were walking home that we saw lights in the sky.

All my Love,

Doctor

Love, Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if you guys have seen all the DW extras that didn't air on TV. But in the minisode Good Night Doctor Amy is upset about her conflicting memories. But more than that she's concerned about her place and Rory's place in his life. "All the friends you make, we're just tiny parts of your life. We just flicker in and out. You must hardly notice us." Anyways, at one point he takes her to her saddest memory, a fairground in 1994 when she dropped an ice cream, she cried and a lady in "a funny nightdress with red hair" bought her another one. It's lovely and sad and wonderful and there's about four of them total, I think. So go watch them either on Youtube or DailyMotion if you can. :)
> 
> So I spent a bit of time on Google Maps looking in and around Hopkinsville just to try and make Jack's story sound believable. There's not much about the Sutton's online, as individuals, I mean. Only the names of the men involved are mentioned. But the facts of what happened that night and how they happened are pretty consistent. I'll be taking creative license with the people but there's no need as far as the events are concerned.


	162. August 14, 1955 (II)

**Supplemental: Archival Records** **  
** **Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams** **  
** **Frequency: Intermittent** **  
** **Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper Kelly-Hopkinsville, Kentucky - Manhattan U.S.**

**14th of August, 1955**

Hi baby.

Hi! Hang on a sec, I'm chasing Vicki around. She's had her bath but she's in no mood for bed. She's running about the house like a little football hooligan.

That's a very funny image. I wish I was there. Take your time.

Alright, I'm back. Vicki is in bed. She has a glass of water and three animal crackers, two bears and a lion. She said it was imperative I tell you that. Both she and Anthony have had their story and I am now officially all yours.

I miss you, Rory.

I miss you too. It's weird writing like this again isn't it? It's been a lot of years since we've had to pull out the psychic paper. Except this time you're the one who's away and in danger. I hate that. I wish it were me instead of you.

I know you do. But I'm here now and I'm ok. In fact I had a perfectly ordinary day.

Yeah? How did dinner with the Sutton's go?

Wonderfully. They're very nice people. We had a pleasant meal, learned the history of the town, played with the children and made plans to have dinner with them on Sunday night.

That's when it happens.

Yeah...pretty soon now.

Have you seen anything out of place?

Not yet. Not exactly but my hackles are up. I feel prickly and on edge like there's static in the air. If nothing else it's giving me terrific ideas for my next Cordelia Puddle story.

Tell me right now that you're coming home to me. Write the words so I can see them.

Rory, I am coming home to you. This will end, we will win and I will be coming home. I figure we'll stay a week or so after and then slip away, you know, just fade out of history. Do the kids miss me?

Every day. Every night too. I haven't slept alone since you left. I bed them down but the next thing I know they're climbing in with me. I like it actually. I'd forgotten how desperately lonely it is to sleep without you.

I feel the same way. I must reach for you a thousand times a night.

Amy, be careful. Don't take any crazy chances.

This coming from the man who charged a tank.

I'm serious. Don't do anything stupid. Jack's a loose canon and quite frankly so are you. I hate sending you off with no anchor.

What, you think because the Doctor isn't here I'm going to go bonkers?

The Doctor? No...Amy, you don't seriously think he was  _your_  anchor do you?

Of course. Well one of two, obviously.

You were his. That's why he chose you. After all this time, you don't known that?

I guess I never thought about it that way. But you're wrong, you know.

About what?

I do have an anchor. You. You don't have to be here with me to anchor me, stupidface.

I love when you call me stupidface, Ginge.

I know you do.

Amy...just stay alert. Even now, all the way up to Sunday just stay alert. And one more thing; don't speak to Goblin Men.

Wait...I know that. What's that from?

Never mind. It doesn't matter.

Do you think it'll always be like this? The two of us fighting separate battles? I'm sensing a pattern here.

I've been thinking the same thing. Another ugly little side effect of the Angels.

Are you angry with me for leaving?

Of course not. This is how we roll. And this is the life we've chosen. As long as I get you back, as long as I always get you back, I can handle this. I'm not saying I'm sleeping soundly or not missing you every moment of every day but I'm managing. I married a superhero. Mad Amelia Pond. How could I ask you to be less than you are?

You know...you know I didn't keep Pond in the beginning because I didn't respect you or anything like that, right? I was just scared of losing...something, some part of myself that-

Amy, you're my wife. You pledged your life to me. You wear my ring and you managed not to lose it in all these years. Do you think something as minor as a last name would matter to me now? I'm not that old fashioned. ...says the World War II vet as he watches Steve Allen host The Tonight Show. I hope that managed a laugh out of you.

It did. I love you. I miss you. I just want to be there with you right now.

I know, me too.

When I get back we're going to do the Macarena.

Is that a euphemism? God, I hope that's a euphemism. Or do you want to just have a nostalgic dance?

LOL. Both!

You should get some rest, love.

I know. I just hate to say goodbye.

We've got loads of time left. This is just one page of our story. I love you.

I love you. Give the kids a thousand kisses each from me, ok?

Two thousand kisses, three if Melody makes a surprise appearance, will do.

Oh and Rory...

Yeah?

I married a superhero too.

I know. :) Goodnight, Mrs. Pond.

Goodnight, Mr. Pond.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Even after all these years there seems to be a bit of controversy over the fact that Amy didn't take Rory's last name. I see it mentioned on Tumblr and Twitter every now and then. Without getting into the long and ridiculous history of marriage, especially the fact that for a good chunk of it's history it was about women being the property of their husband alongside their land and goats and horses I wanted to address it here. I for one was disappointed that her gravestone read Amelia Williams. In a show where names, the name you choose, the name you answer to, the name you run from, is so very, very important, I didn't like that in her last moment all her history was erased. I tried to make names just as vitally important in this story, from her parents always calling her Melody but respecting that the rest of the universe refers to her as River (and making damn certain to call her that in appropriate situations), to Rory answering to The Lonely Man or Rhuardi. I'm rambling, but my point is she's a Pond, she always will be a Pond as will Rory. Now, it's more than a last name, it's a badge, it's an umbrella term that means brave, amazing and unconquered.** _

_**LAST MINUTE EDIT:** _

_**i just got a review on this chapter (on another place where I posted it, not here), specifically regarding my end note about The Ponds and last names and I wanted to post both the review, so you wouldn't have to go looking for it and my reply. Just in case any of you might have felt the same way.** _

_**There's nothing plot-y here, so don't feel obligated to read it. :D** _

_**"I see her taking his name at death to be one last gift to her centurion. It doesn't erase a blessed thing, because anybody who would know her and see that stone knows under it lies Amy Pond. There's not a blessed thing sexist or wrong about it. It's simply an honor and a gift to the man she loved. Oh, and as for the last part? Brave, amazing and unconquered. Absolutely. Of course, you can't honestly be saying Rory Williams - the Last Centurion, the man who fought death back over and over and over again for the sake of the woman he loved - his name is an something somehow insignificant beside hers? Really?"** _

_**Oh no, don't misunderstand, I don't think it's at all insignificant. He too is superhero, alongside her, but she has earned her name. It's hers. And she deserves to be remembered for that name. However because I love Rory, madly, I have her hyphenate it in the story. I think that's appropriate and fair and correct and a tribute to their union.** _

_**I'm not saying she wouldn't at all be willing to give up Pond. I think the Amy we first met at 7, the Amy we re-met at 19 and then the Amy at 21 is very different from the Amy who gets sent back by the Angels at 34, who's also different from the Amy we're reading abut now at 48. She is so much more secure in herself, her actions, her choices. She knows who she is and she doesn't require the name Pond to reaffirm that. She could get rid of it and would drop it if he asked. HOWEVER, I don't think Rory would ever require that of her. This is a man who has gone through countless names over 2000 years. He has gained and lost as much as the Doctor and realizes how silly and antiquated something like that is.** _

_**I will always, always be someone who holds that Amy has made tremendous, incredible sacrifices for Rory and given the chance, she would have waited 2000 years for him as well. I just don't think she needs to provide him with "one last gift". They gave one another their gifts when they were alive.** _

_**Saying that her name is valid doesn't mean his is insignificant but as a (pre-Centurion) Williams, his life and accomplishments were rather small. I think, as a character, he would be the first to admit that Rory Williams didn't do much of anything. I don't mean this to turn into an Amy/Rory history lesson but there was a reason she was reluctant to marry him initially. The milquetoast, simpering, weak man who couldn't firmly state that Amy was his girlfriend, who couldn't stand up to the hospital administrator,** _

_**(Note her very specific line from The Eleventh Hour: " We've been very patient with you, Rory. You're a good enough nurse, but for God's sake. " Patient? Good enough? Is this the same guy from The Power of Three who's told; "Everyone here loves you. The nurses, the doctors. You're a life-saver, mate, literally."? Hardly)** _

_**who actually did think that a ponytail made him interesting, who could be content with a boring life in a village surrounded by 'over 70's where his greatest accomplishment was healing someones hip?** _

_**(Again, compare this to the man who said in Amy's Choice** _   
_**RORY: I want the other life. You know, where we're happy and settled and about to have a baby.** _   
_**AMY: But don't you wonder, if that life is real, then why would we give up all this? Why would anyone?** _   
_**RORY: Because we're going to freeze to death?)** _

_**Then a few years later:** _

_**RORY: We have two lives. Real life and Doctor life. Except real life doesn't get much of a look in.** _   
_**AMY: What do we do?** _   
_**RORY: Choose?** _   
_**(The sound of a TARDIS materializing.)** _   
_**AMY: Not today, though.** _   
_**RORY: Nah, not today.** _

_**That "Nah, not today" is vitally important. Rory Williams is worried about freezing to death. Rory/Ruahrdi/Centurion has faced down Daleks and Cybermen, Angels, the end of the world/universe and dozens of other things. This Rory is fearless and very little of that growth and development was made when he bore the name Williams.** _

_**Not to put too fine a point on it, Amy had every right to be less than keen to marry Rory Williams. He was cute and sweet and kind and lovely but he had no backbone, no ambition and precious few plans and you can't build a life with someone like that. Even if you desperately want to. He was a grown man when he bolted from Amy's bedroom after Mels revealed "It has to be you two". A grown man who was very possibly NEVER going to tell Amy he had feelings for her. He was settled in Leadworth and he was prepared to live and die in his rut. They would have separated in two years and divorced in three.** _

_**This turned into an essay but I get a bit prickly about this underlying current in the fandom. The one that states that Amy is somehow unappreciative, unworthy of Rory. That those 2000 years do and forever will outweigh anything and everything she could ever do. I don't think that's what Moffat intended and I don't think that's what Rory would have wanted. Amy is not indebted to him. They are equals. They are the boy and girl who waited for each other.** _

_**Tl:dr Williams is not a name that means anything to either one of them and why should it? Pond and Centurion, those are the names of change, the names of success and battle wounds and survival and passion and love and war and fire. Williams...that's just the name signed on to their mortgage, their credit card receipts, their car title and their divorce papers.** _


	163. August 21, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**21 of August, 1955**

I write this now only after having bandaged Jack's face, after he put my shoulder back in it's socket...and after my hand stopped shaking.

The Suttons and Taylor's are gone. They left to try and get some help from the police. Jack and I volunteered to stay here. Honestly they didn't try to persuade us all that hard to come with them. I can't blame them, they're naturally suspicious of us now. Jack and I knew this would happen but we'd spoken about it in mostly a tactical way. We knew that once we lost their trust they would be harder to corral and we needed to keep all of them accounted for.

But what we didn't discuss is how the way they'd look at us would hurt a bit. If hurt is even the right word. Almost as if we were part of it. But I've pushed that down and away because there's no room for it right now.

Jack and I arrived at the Sutton farm a little after 5:30, fried chicken, cherry cake and homemade cider in hand. They greeted us warmly and chided us for bringing anything given that we were guests.

My ma always said it's the height of rudeness to show up to anywhere's empty handed. I said with a smile. After a bit Jack went outside with the men while the ladies and little girls and I moved into the kitchen to help finish up dinner and set the table.

I'm skipping over the pleasantries mostly because right now there isn't time to go over them. Maybe later.

By the time we'd finished with supper and had begun the washing up I was starting to get tense. I traded quick glances with Jack, furtive, mad looks that said when, how, who, when, now, then, later, when, when,  _when_...?

But Jack was cool, glacial, even. He kept right on, talking with the men, making the children laugh and munching on a piece of cake for dessert.

A little after 7, Billy Ray said he was heading out for a drink of water from the pump. I could tell Jack wanted to go with him.  _I_   wanted to go with him but we needed to let this play out, for better or worse. Conversation continued on in the house but Jack and I kept our eyes glued to the door.

After a few moments Billy Ray came running back in, breathless and barely able to form a sentence.

The sky!

That was all he said at first. There was a stain of water on his shirt front, he was panting and his eyes were wide.

The men immediately burst out laughing and Jack seamlessly joined them only a half second later.

What the hell are you talking about? One of them asked.

The sky! He repeated again. I saw it, one of them flying saucers, in the sky. It had every kind of flashing light around it's edges, all sorts of colors, like a rainbow. It was right above me, clear as fucking day. Sorry, ladies, clear as  _day_.

Sure you did. Elmer, who most of the family called Lucky said. Been having a little nip when no ones lookin', Billy Ray?

I ain't drunk and I know what I saw. It was one of them disc's they mention on the news sometimes.

Can't tell a saucer from a shooting star. Lucky said.

Or his ass from a hole in the ground. Solomon added.

The smaller children giggled at the swear word and I did my best to mimic the facial expressions of the women around me. They seemed soft, amused and slightly indulgent of Billy's Ray's story.

After all, why would they believe him? But that didn't stop him from continuing on.

It didn't make a sound but it sure was big. Can't imagine what powers a thing like that.

You ain't gonna shut up about this are you? J.C. asked.

Not until's one of you believe me, no I ain't. Billy Ray sniffed indignantly.

I noticed Jack was keeping quiet, only laughing at the appropriate time, his eyes flitting between the windows and the door

Alright, how about I go with you? I could use a smoke anyhow. Lucky volunteered. It seemed despite all his teasing he did want to at least try and appease Billy Ray.

I'll come too. Jack said offering no further explanation but I knew it was to get our weapons from the truck.

I took this time to remove my jewelry and put my hair in a quick bun. Nothing to snag, nothing to catch. I had no idea just how physical this might get but I wanted to be prepared. I wished I wasn't trapped in that silly dress but I'd made certain that beneath it I was wearing a pair of capri's I'd rolled up and a tank top.

Amy...? I turned around to see little Mandy beaming up at me.

Yes, honey? I asked with a smile.

I liked your cake. You want to see my room?

I'd love to. I said and let her pull me by the hand upstairs to her bedroom. We spent a bit of time touring her home which she was very proud to show me and when I came back downstairs Jack and the other men had returned.

Anything? I asked with a forced smile as Jack approached.

Jack walked over to me and I forced what I hoped was a believable smile.

Nope, didn't see a thing.

He kissed me and then whispered into my ear; We've got about an hour, maybe less. I'm not sure where to set up but I'm thinking the living room.

I nodded quickly. It was the most defend-able area.

Jack gave me a smile and I saw the excitement in his eyes.

You ready?

Always. I replied.

He pulled away a moment later saying, I don't know about you boys but I could sure use a drink.

A general whoop went up from the men while the ladies and I settled back in the kitchen for coffee and small talk.

Amy, Jack seems like a good man. How is it that you both never saw fit to have a family? Mrs. Lankford, the matriarch of the clan asked.

Mama, you can't just ask that! Her daughter in law, Sue, said in protest.

No, no, it's alright. We tried...for awhile but in the end I just don't think it was in the cards.

Saying those words aloud made me sad, I suppose because of the odd truth to them. Rory and I had of course faced that and surmounted it but it still stung. It made me wonder about Jack. Did he have a family, a husband, a wife somewhere, perhaps even children.

Around 8 the family dog, Beau, started barking.

At first everyone laughed it off, until Beau's bark started to sound different, more frantic and far more frightened. Then we all realized he'd gone into hiding...under the house.

Then the noises started outside. Rustling, something falling over just near the front doorway, something banging into the far wall. We were too far out to be the victim of teenagers playing a prank, everyone agreed on that but no one, save Jack and I, knew what was happening.

Billy Ray and Lucky went for their guns, just to be on the safe side and cautiously stepped out of the front door. 

Jack took the distraction to grab the bag he'd retrieved from our truck and chuck it behind the couch out of view.

Not long after we all heard the report of a shotgun and a .22 going off in rapid succession. The women gasped and cried out and one of the children started nervously crying.

After an agonizing stretch of minutes Lucky came barreling back in with Billy Ray hot on his heels. They slammed the door shut behind them, both leaning against it heavily.

What is it?! Solomon asked his eyes wide.

There's something out there. Billy Ray said in a harsh whisper.

Yeah, a couple somethings. Lucky added darkly.

Before they could even explain what it was they saw, we all heard gunshots again, this time much closer.

I can't write anymore just now. Jack and I have to do a sweep of the house.

This was just a rest period, for both sides it seems. They'll be starting up again any moment.

...more later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to be as faithful to the actual occurrences as possible regarding the Kelly-Hopkinsville encounter. There's a lot of summaries of it online but nothing really in terms of hour by hour occurrences so I'm taking incredible liberties.
> 
> A/N: One of the things that was always important to me about this story and the Amy, Rory and 11 arc in general was that Amy's awesomeness was never de-emphasized. She is not and has never been a damsel in distress. When she said in "DOASP" that she's "easily worth two men." I recall applauding enthusiastically. So, after giving Rory so many heroic tales I felt it was way past time to put Amy back in action.


	164. August 21, 1955 (2)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**21 of August, 1955**

As the gunshots died down J.C. burst into the room, looking just as wide eyed as the other two men.

Something was looking through the window! I looked right at, it stared right at me and I shot at it. Broke the glass...

J.C. trailed off as the other men who'd been outside asked just what he'd seen.

Little, silver...

He began before one of the women interrupted.

Like a child?

No, no this weren't no kid. This wasn't anything I've ever seen before. J.C. concluded.

Us neither. Billy Ray and I went out there and we saw these things...coming out of the trees.

When you shot at it, did you hit it? Billy Ray asked.

There ain't nothin' I aim at that I don't hit. But...

But what? Elmer asked.

But when you hit it, it didn't fall, did it? Jack supplied and it was more of a statement than a question. It sort of floated to the ground, right? He pressed, his accent all but gone.

Yeah, yeah that's right. it just kinda drifted like a feather but it didn't fall. I don't even know if I hurt it. How did you know? He asked, his voice tinged with fear and a hint of suspicion.

But Jack didn't answer.

Amy, battlestations. He called across the room and I felt all that wonderful adrenaline flood my body again.

Alright, let's all move into the living room, away from the windows. I said to the people who had so warmly welcomed us into their home.

I'm going to do a general sweep of upstairs. Jack called dashing upwards and taking them two at a time.

General sweep? I heard Lucky mutter. Is Jack military?

He served in Korea. That's just his training rearing it's ugly head. I said quickly. He's going to secure the entry ways and choose the most defendable area of the house. That looks to be here.

Are _you_ military?

Of course. I said quickly. I was a WAC.

I needed to be free of this silly dress and get those weapons out and cocked. Without much preamble or time to waste I quickly slipped out of my dress revealing the tank and capris beneath it.

I even got this scar in London. I said pointing to an old wound on my knee from the Dalek Asylum. A V-1 bomb went off a little too close to me.

I tried to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at me like I'd just unscrewed my own head. This was no time to worry about propriety or telling detailed lies to placate them. We had to get moving and I needed to establish a little authority.

Now, why don't we get everyone situated- I began at the same time JC started to say, I thought WAC's were-

But it was Solomon who broke in louder than us both.

Now wait a minute- He began but I cut him off as I headed behind the couch.

No, we don't have a minute. I don't have time to explain or convince you that women's rights is a good thing or that I can handle a weapon just as well as you can or give you a history lesson in alien encounters. Because all of this is happening right now.

We all heard a door slam upstairs and Jack's quick footsteps heading down the stairs.

You'd better listen to her. He said casually, She knows what she's talking about. So, are they up to speed?

As much as they will be. I replied.

Are you going to let these two strangers come into your house and talk to you this way? J.C. asked, clearly indignant.

There was a pause as everyone looked to Lucky, waiting on his answer.

Yeah...I believe I am.

Voices chorused in support and protest but Lucky held up a hand.

I don't know what's going on here, God damn it, but they seem to. And after what I saw, what we _all_ saw, I think we're going to need all the help we can get.

Maybe...maybe we should just go home. Billy Ray's wife said, the quaver in her voice apparent.

No, no one is leaving. It isn't safe we're all better off if we just stay-

His words were interrupted by a scraping and then a patter far above our heads.

They're on the roof. I said quietly and Mandy began to cry. I knelt down to reach for her but she retreated behind her mother's skirts. I supposed I had earned that.

It'll be alright. I assured them. Just do as Jack and I say.

Picking up my dress from the ground I hurried behind the sofa again to grab the bags of weapons. I removed the ion blaster and cocked it, hearing the whine as it charged.

One of the women screamed and pointed towards the kitchen window just at the same time we all heard a bang at the door.

They're getting bolder. Jack said.

Well then lets put a scare in them. I replied. We establish a line in the sand. Show them we mean business.

Ma'am, there's no way I'm letting you go out there alone. Billy Ray said stepping forward shotgun in hand. I'll fire a couple warning shots, get them to step back a bit from the door in case they're congregating.

With his elbow he proceeded to break the glass of the side window and kneeling down he aimed through the new and jagged hole, firing his weapon.

Jack, I think we need a person on every window. We only back off when they do. At worst, I want a stalemate until morning.

I saw the gleam in his eye as he noted the woman who'd fought so hard against joining Torchwood was now giving orders. But he didn't say anything besides an acknowledging; Ma'am before putting everyone to work.

Miss Amy, if we're going to do it- Billy Ray began.

Now's the time. I concluded.

Grabbing the door I yanked it open, weapon raised and ready to fire. The only sound that greeted me was the rustling of leaves and cicadas and the only sight was darkness. I stepped out cautiously, tracking my gun in a slow steady movement in front of me. I heard Billy Ray demand that they shut the door behind us as soon as we were out and the hollow thunk told me they'd hastily done as he'd told them.

I motioned for him to lag back a little and cover me as we started to make our way around the outside of the house. Except for the blood pounding in my ears, everything seemed strangely normal. There was a moon that would periodically appear from behind clouds, mosquito's buzzing, one of which took a healthy bite out of my leg, the occasional scent of the flower garden some 20 paces to the right.

It was almost enough to make you believe you might have imagined the whole thing. That was until I turned the southern corner of the house and saw one, face to face.

We both froze at exactly the same moment, sizing one another up, waiting for the next move.

I raised my hand and motioned to Billy Ray to stay put. It started advancing on me immediately and while I aimed my weapon I didn't fire. It wasn't a little green man like all the stories say. It wasn't green at all and it certainly wasn't a man. It was small but powerful looking, about 4 feet high with long arms that extended far past its knees with fingers that came to sharp points, bulging yellow eyes, huge, pointed triangular ears and teeth...rows of them.

Christ on his throne, what is that? What the hell  _is_ that? Billy Ray whispered from just behind me, maintaining cover. As frightened as he was I didn't think for a second he'd leave me.

The creature was getting closer and despite how frightened and exhilarated I felt I was surprised to see my hand remained steady. I lined it up in my sights, my finger teasing the trigger but not squeezing.

I address you as Thrashke. You are in violation of Article 28 of the Shadow Proclamation, illegally attempting to seed a Level 5 planet. Article 43, illegally attempting to cannibalize said planets inhabitants.

I held steady ground as I saw it stop, frozen in its tracks. There was a quick flicker of its eyes almost faster than I could catch. But I knew it was looking to however many more of its friends were out there. I could almost feel them crowding closer to listen. But beyond that, I knew my mention of the Shadow Proclamation had hit home.

And you don't want to make me contact the Galactic Court. Look at me! Look at this weapon! I am not from this time and neither are any of my friends. You can stay and ready yourself for the firefight of your life. Or you can leave now, and I don't just mean leave this place I mean leave this planet and we wont pursue you.

A thought, a completely foreign thought appeared in my head, raw and grating.

They weren't my words, my thoughts or anything else that had come from me. This was from  _them_.

WE WILL WEAR YOUR SKIN AS OUR FINERY. It rasped.

That made it all pretty clear to me.

Did you hear that? I asked Billy Ray and the slight whimper he made from behind me served as an answer.

I locked eyes with the creature, as a challenge and warning.

It's your funeral, mate. I replied

I pulled the trigger and shot.

 


	165. August 22, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records** **  
** **Marker: Personal Correspondence From Captain Jack Harkness to Doctor Rory Williams** **  
** **Frequency: Intermittent** **  
** **Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper Kelly-Hopkinsville, Kentucky- Manhattan New York, New York**

22 of August, 1955

Dear Rory,

I'm not sure how much you know, because honestly Amy and I have spent a good deal of our time with Suttons gone in silence. She's been writing, maybe to you, I'm not sure. But in any case, she's sleeping now so I decided to jot down a bit. Ok, maybe it makes me feel a little less lonely...and a little less scared.

I'm keeping watch. I don't need to sleep much, one of the benefits of being a Time Agent, we can get along with only a half hour or so every few days. While I've got the time, I'll catch you up on what I can.

After Amy killed the one outside things got a bit hairy. She hurried back in, hot on the heels of Billy Ray as we were all recovering from that awful little psychic greeting card.

Did you hear that? She asked me.

Damn right I did. I said rubbing my temple. If there's one thing about intrusive messages like that, they hurt, it's like all the hours of a hangover compressed into about 15 seconds.

I killed one of them, Jack.

You got that close?

She nodded only once.

Right between the eyes. It went down and all this...blood, I guess started coming out. We ran, back to the house but we could hear this screaming coming from the trees. There's no going back now.

I'd been so focused on Amy's words I had momentarily put aside the commotion in the room. The men were jockeying for our attention and answers, some of the women were near hysterical while the children sobbed against them.

Of course they'd heard. I thought to myself at about the same time it seemed to occur to Amy. They didn't know what was happening and we couldn't explain it to them. All they knew is that they were terrified.

Which is I suppose why we shouldn't have been surprised at what happened next.

I saw the guilt on Amy's face as she tried to approach the women and kids. She wanted to make things up to them. She wanted to explain...but the time for that was long gone.

I think this is your fault. One of the wives began quietly but as she continued her voice got louder. I think it's both of you. I don't think any of this started or that any of this would have ever happened if you hadn't come here! I wish the both of you would just leave us alone! Why can't you just leave us alone!?

I think it would have gone on like that had her husband not grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

You recall what it's like to see that look people get as they're turning on you. We saw it in Cherbourg in '44. Charm only lasts so long and its effects stretch mighty thin when you're toting a weapon and barking orders.

Amy drew back but she didn't let it shake her. Or maybe she did and she's just really good at hiding things. You'd know better than I.

The scratching started about an hour or so later. At first it was at random places on the roof, they started darting from side to side, end to end searching for a weakness. When their efforts became more concerted, we knew they'd found one.

Jesus are they going to break through? JC asked in a low voice.

We'd best get up there, trade a little fire. Billy Ray responded with exuberance.

If we start a fight in here we'll just blow half of the roof off and if that happens we may as well just welcome them in. I interjected. No, we need to fight them where they are. I'm going outside and then I'm heading up there.

Don't be stupid. Amy said. They'll hear you just climbing up. It'll be like a herd of elephants.

We were all talking in hushed, quick whispers trying to keep everybody and ourselves calm.

You know it only makes sense if I do it. She insisted and I still don't know if the glint in her eye was excitement or fear. You're all too heavy. Just tell me how to get up there.

A few minutes later she was on the roof but through the almost steady barrage of gunfire and the children wailing I couldn't hear a thing from the living room. I hurried up to the top level of the house, straining to listen. I could hear Amy talking but it was mostly muffled. Something heavy and metallic hit the roof and a second later all the slats above me were lit up with a glare so bright I had to shield my eyes. I figured she must have set off a scatter-blast grenade. She wasn't kidding when she said you guys had collected weaponry from all across time. That was Sontaran tech if I ever saw any. I'm not sure how she covered her eyes but the next second, before I could even see straight I hear her discharging her weapon. Then there was that unearthly screech and I knew she'd hit another one. The rush of feet, faster discharge, a scream from Amy, a hard thud and the sound of a body rolling and then...nothing.

Again, Rory, she's fine. I swear it. She right next to me, right now, alive and well. I just wanted to reiterate that before I went on.

I rushed down the steps shouting 'man down' and made a beeline for the door. Sonic blaster in one hand, Webley in the other I went out firing, shooting at anything that moved until I found Amy on her side in the grass.

Shit, are you alright? My hands hovered over her, I didn't want to touch her until she answered me and I held my breath until I heard her voice.

The bastard actually charged me. She said weakly and I laughed just happy to see her conscious.

Are you hurt?

Arm. Was all she said weakly.

Is that all?

That's enough.

Without another word I holstered my guns and scooped her up into my arms. With Solomon covering me rushed her back into the house.

The men kept the doors covered while one of the wives brought Amy a glass of water. I tentatively felt her arm, apologizing as she winced.

Sorry. Well, it's not broken but this shoulder is most definitely dislocated.

She looked at me and pressed her lips together tightly.

Fix it. She said shortly.

It's gonna hurt like hell.

Hurts like hell already. Fix it, Jack.

Alright. I swallowed and gently took her arm. Supporting her elbow I swung it out slowly towards me, my other hand holding her wrist.

You ready? I asked as I slowly moved my hand up to her forearm.

She nodded.

Count of three. One. Two.

With a sharp movement I snapped the bone back into place and watched the blood drain from her already pale features. She moaned breathily and tears flooded her eyes before she dropped her head.

I never actually wait until three. I told her sheepishly. Amy, are you ok?

I will be. Just...just give me a minute...or three. I got another one of them though. She said the gleam of pride in her eyes erasing some of the tears.

Good lass. I said approvingly.

You know how battle is, Rory. It sounds interesting when you set it in a movie to a rousing score but in truth it's mundane and repetitive. They attacked. We attacked. They fell back, we regrouped. Between Billy Ray and I we managed to kill another one of them while the rest of the men effectively held them off. Still, we had no idea how many of them there were, how many were coming or if when we killed them they stayed dead. Mostly, when we hit them we just heard a sound that reminded you of a stone hitting a metal pail. It didn't exactly instill one with confidence.

At about 11 everybody decided it would make a lot more sense to just hightail it out of there and get the police. Amy and I volunteered to stay but it didn't seem as though we were invited anyway.

So that's where we are now. Amy and I just did a sweep and I told her to get some rest while I kept watch. She protested initially but now she's fast asleep on my shoulder.

It's nice.

In any case we're waiting for the Sutton's to come back with the cops.

We don't know exactly what they'll tell them about this night...or us.

But we're prepared to stay here and stick to our original story.

And we're prepared to run. The truck is gassed and the back is filled with everything we need to make a hasty exit.

Just know, everything is fine. Everything is under control. And on my honor, Amy will be back with you before you know it.

Yours,

Captain Jack Harkness


	166. August 22, 1955 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**21 of August, 1955**

It was so strange to bring your regular, run of the mill cops into a situation like we were in. Whether we'd asked for it or not, all of us in that farmhouse had shared something earlier that night. And, like sometimes happens when help was sought, we expected it was skepticism that would be received in turn.

The Sutton's brought the police back and not just one or two cops either. I counted at least twenty. By then I was back in my dress and Jack and I were both back in our accents. But the skepticism I expected didn't happen. Maybe because of who the family was, their standing in the community or maybe because of how truly terrified they seemed they were taken seriously.

I didn't know if they were going to turn Jack and in or not. Not that we had any intention of going with the police but still... Instead Billy Ray seemed to speak for everyone with a simple,

That's my cousin, Jack and his wife Amy. He said succinctly and then continued on. We're all pretty shook up about this. Would you just take a look around?

And that was that.

The police fanned out, noting the countless shell casing strewn about the floor and ground outside, the windows we'd broken firing at the creatures, the bullet holes in the trees, this sort of glow-y area that spread across a few slats of a fence. I remembered that was where I had shot one of them.

Maybe you oughtn't touch that. Jack cautioned when an officer bent low to examine the substance.

Hey...Sergeant, you see that?

One of the men said pointing off into the thick of the woods. Jack and I hurried to the porch to see what they were discussing. In the distance we saw this green, floating light that filled me with a sort of dread.

I'm gonna go check it out.

Are you sure you should do that? I asked suddenly, fearful for the young officers life. But he flashed me a smile born out of youth and the blissful, ignorant belief in immortality that comes with it.

I'm armed ma'am, I'll be fine.

And off he went.

Meanwhile the others officers set out to neighboring properties and while some of those inside went about sweeping up the casings and broken glass, Jack and I snooped about, trying to hear what we could.

The cops visited the neighbors and when they returned we heard them saying that not only had nearby families heard the gun fight, they'd also seen strange lights and heard what they described as weird sounds.

Not long after the young officer returned from the woods and I breathed a sigh of relief that he was no worse for wear.

"Damndest thing...sorry, excuse me, ma'am,  _darndest_  thing, no matter how far I walked I never could get close enough to the thing. Whatever it was, it's like it was always the same distance away from me as when it started. But I didn't hear a motor or a person or even a twig breaking. I...I don't know  _what_  it was Sarge.

All in all the police stayed over two hours and I never found them to be anything but sincere, concerned and perplexed. They said they'd come back the next day and that everyone should definitely make a statement so they could file a report on this. But for now, things seem to have died down and whatever it was...whatever  _they_  were, they seemed to have stopped.

I think we'd all felt good when they were there and better when they left. It's that old, silly feeling that authority is universally respected. That because they had been there nothing else bad could happen. The universe had, afterall, seen we were serious. I heard so many exhausted sighs, so many weak little laughs that said, At least now it's over. The women began making tea and trying to figure out a way to convince the children to go to bed. A few of the men lit of cigarettes with slightly trembling hands.

Only Billy Ray stood by the window, his brow furrowed, keeping watch.

I hugged Jack, just impulsively threw my arms around him and whispered in his ear.

So, we made it, yeah?

I felt the almost imperceptible shake of his head as he hugged me in return.

I didn't want to feel it.

Second wave, Red. He said softly. Lock and load.

Just about that time Billy Ray's voice broke through and rose above the others in the house.

Here they come again!


	167. August 22, 1955 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of August 1955

Dear Doctor,

_We must not look at Goblin men_

_We must not buy their fruits_

_Who knows upon what soil they fed_

_Their hungry thirsty roots._

I've had that poem running through my head for hours now. I can't sleep. I've got the kids on either side of me, Spartacus at the foot of the bed.

Melody even dropped by earlier and we all had dinner together.

But my wife isn't here.

I let Melody read Jack's letter and watched as she frowned in a way I found unsettling. But then she pressed it down, packing her real feelings away and putting on a bright face for dear, dim old Dad.

You worry too much. He said she's fine.

We carried the dishes into the kitchen to start the after dinner washing up. The kids were watching telly in the living room, The Adventures of Robin Hood.

Now, tell me what you really think.

She pressed her lips together tightly.

What I really think is I'm furious with Jack. I told him not to do this. I told him not to drag the two of you back into this again.

She was starting to raise her voice as the pent up anger began to flow through her. I put a hand on my daughters shoulder to calm her. She took another deep breath and continued.

When is enough, enough?

Melody, he didn't strong arm her into it.

Didn't he? He's been planning this for years. And I know this isn't what the two of you want.

How do you know that? I asked quietly, wanting to understand where so much of this anger was coming from.

I know you were thinking of stopping travelling with the Doctor. You were trying to establish lives, real lives in London. Lives with family and friends and birthday parties and real commitments that you could keep. It wasn't fun anymore. You were ready to just settle down and be normal.

Well...now...

I felt the need to correct a few things she'd said but I had to gather my thoughts first.

Melody, you're right. It's true, we were thinking of stopping. But it wasn't because we weren't having fun anymore. It wasn't because we didn't love the Doctor or our lives with him. But, back then, we were still young. We were still trying to find balance and at that time it was 80/20 in favor of the Doctor. Which isn't bad if you've committed to spend your days,  _all_  your days on the TARDIS. But, well, I loved being a nurse and Amy loved writing and it was just too hard right then to pull double duty. But, we hadn't given up. And it wasn't because we couldn't handle the excitement anymore. Our Earth lives were exciting too, just in their own way. We love excitement.

What are you saying, Dad?

I looked at her now, maybe seeing her for the first time in awhile. She said she was going to dial back her age a bit to freak people out and she has been. It's been so subtle I hadn't really noticed but now I see it. The smoothness of her face, the brightness of her eyes, her hair more vibrant than ever. Hardly a wrinkle or a line. She was beautiful and so, so young, it seemed. At least to me.

I'm saying...we never signed up for normal. Never wanted it. No matter how many times we tried to convince ourselves we did. I'm saying...we wanted to be a part of Torchwood. More than that, I think we needed it. I love this house, this neighborhood, our friends. I love the PTA and seeing patients. Amy loves writing her stories and charity work and bake sales and articles and shopping. But...God help us, we miss the running.

This is what you _want_? She asked incredulously.

You know we fought over this very thing before she left. The idea of us getting involved again. I told her we shouldn't but I think...I  _know_ , part of that just came from jealousy. I'd rather she and I were together, like always, like we're supposed to be, but yes. This is what we want.

She sighed with resignation.

I didn't know that. Or maybe I didn't want to know that. Do you have any idea how frustrating it's going to be knowing the two of you are always going to be running about out there?

She asked this without a hint of irony in her voice and I tugged her closer and kissed her atop the head.

No, I said dryly. I have no idea what that's like. Melody grinned and nodded in understanding. I'm glad you stopped by tonight. I continued. Other than the fact that it's always wonderful to see you, you made me feel better.

But I didn't do anything.

You did. You reminded me of why we do what we do and why Amy's there. You know, we're not ancient yet. We can still fight the good fight.

Oh, I know that, Dad. She said quickly. I just worry. You're the only parents I have, you know?

I know. But we're fine. I'm fine. And your mum is fine. Yes, I'm worried about her. But I also know, she's fine. I feel it.

Those feelings of calm and security stayed with me for awhile, through dessert and saying goodbye to Melody and bedtime and brushing my teeth and wishing somehow Amy would call and the inevitable raiding of our bed by two very restless children. I hope they're not picking it up from me though I imagine they can feel it.

I've been looking at accounts of the Kelly-Hopkinsville invasion. I asked Melody if she thought it was safe to peek before I started searching. She took my iPhone quickly hacked into it and to the best of my understanding added a few search blocks.

They'll expire once this is all over, but for now I've made it impossible for you to find anything about it that you shouldn't see.

Then she grinned again.

It gives parental blocks a whole new meaning doesn't it?

What was left for me to search was sparse, as it should be, I suppose.

From what little I could see, all the accounts we'd always heard of little green men, were off the mark. These things weren't green or particularly humanoid looking. They were short and silver with far more teeth than I wanted to imagine and they were vicious.

The Hopkinsville Goblins they were sometimes called.

Little silver Goblin men who devour if you got close enough.

_Dear you should not stay so late_

_Twilight is not good for maidens_

_Should not loiter in the glen_

_In the haunts of goblin men_

I've closed my phone Doctor as everything I've read, Jack's letter and Miss Rossetti's poetry has me properly spooked. I hate this not knowing.

I need Amy to be ok.

I need my wife to be ok.

I don't imagine I'll get much sleep tonight. I'm too worried and too frightened and quite frankly too lonely.

Maybe you and I can pretend to keep each other company across the expanse of stars.

Let's try.

\- Love, Rory


	168. August 24th, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**24 of August, 1955**

Dear Doctor,

On the early morning of August 22, just as dawn was breaking I stood out on the lawn of the Sutton's farm, spattered with blood, some of it my own, some of it not. I was holding a Judoon blaster and lightly, nervously tapping it against my thigh. My eyes were moving wildly, surveying all the land that I could see as I adjusted to sun after this long, long night.

It looked like they were finally gone.

You probably wonder when we started collection weapons, Doctor. Well, it was after Melody was taken. So much of what had happened before that had been in one way or another our own doing. Just a hazard of the job, you know. But everything with Kovarian...this was maybe the first time it seemed as though we'd been targeted. And...we were determined not to let it happen again. So we started nicking little things, here and there, building a little arsenal. I know...I know...you never would. But I would. And Rory would. We would do anything to keep our family safe, you included.

I know you're angry but I hope it's not deeper than that. I hope you don't feel betrayed. We weren't trying to be deceitful or sneaky. We just...I don't think you'll understand.

When the shotgun shells and bullets had run out, Jack and I gave the family a crash course in alien weaponry that was centuries ahead of this time. They set themselves up in their places by the broken windows, firing at any movement or flash of teeth. Eventually the Thraske had retreated and just as the sky began to take on that rosy hue I stepped outside with Jack.

I think we won, Red.

Yeah but for how long. ...sorry that sounded like a line from a movie...and it didn't really make all that much sense.

Jack had laughed then and I joined him.

We've got them on the run, do doubt. This was the turning point. It's always been the turning point, you know. I'll trail them a bit more, making certain they understand that this planet is defended. But I think they'll be gone before the end of September.

By yourself?

That's usually how I work. He'd said brusquely but then he softened as he'd turned to me. But this was nice. Is nice the right word? It was good...to not be alone.

I gave him a playful bump with my good shoulder.

Yeah, we should do it again sometime. I'd said.

There wasn't a long drawn out goodbye with the family. We'd quietly gathered our things and said goodbye to the few people who would even look us in the eye. Jack assured them all that the danger was over and we left.

We both went back to the farmhouse and crashed, face first on our respective beds. I wanted to write to Rory, to let him know I was ok but I just didn't have the strength. But that evening I stood alongside Jack for Tuesday evening church services singing What A Friend We Have In Jesus with all of my might. I ached just about everywhere and I hadn't gotten more than a handful of hours of sleep. But we had to be here. We had to act as though everything was perfectly normal. I plastered as much makeup as I could over the scratches and bruises on my face and the circles under my eyes and Jack and I made our appearance like we knew we had to. I think we did a pretty good job.

When it was over we didn't linger. We hurried back to the truck and redlined it back home, again to just grab a bit of rest.

How long are we staying? I asked him over a very late night dinner. I'd scribbled a happy, excited note to Rory before we'd sat down to eat and to my surprise, especially considering how late it was he wrote back almost immediately. Well, I guess I wasn't really that surprised.

Neither of us had felt like cooking so we munched on hamburgers Jack has picked up after church.

I don't see any reason why you can't leave tomorrow. I'll stay a couple more days, tie up some loose ends but you should get back home to Rory and your kids.

I had to admit, Doctor, the idea of being home, maybe even 24 hours from then made my heart sing. But I didn't want to leave Jack all alone.

What sort of loose ends? What do you have to do?

I might have to give a statement or two to the police, things like that.

But what if things gets bad? What if they decide to hold you?

Jack laughed darkly.

I've escaped out of tighter spots than this Amy. I once escaped from Stormcage as a matter of fact. Every heard of it?

Once or twice. I said with a smile.

Not to mention, if somehow this town did turn out to be a diabolical, inescapable danger zone I could always just convince a cop to shoot me, wake up in the morgue and leave while everyone is screaming.

I frowned.

But that hurts, doesn't it.

Most things do. He said with a shrug.

I reached out and put a hand to his cheek. He was so darn prickly.

One minute you want to pull us close, the next you want to push us away.

Pull you close. He said softly, staring at me in a way I didn't expect. The next second he drew back and cleared his throat.

I'll...make plane reservations for you tomorrow. Rory will be glad to get you back.

Jack...? I began but he shook his head and got to his feet.

I should hit the sack. I don't have Pond stamina, I'm afraid. He teased. I'll see you tomorrow, ok, Red?

Yeah...ok.

Well, Doctor. I think that little minute is something we won't ever mention to Rory, right?

If,  _when_  you meet Jack again. Be nice to him. He's pretty high on the list of people I worry about now.

Before noon the next day, Billy Ray pulled up into our driveway with a spray of gravel as Jack was packing my things into the truck. I eyed him warily. I knew how things could change in a persons mind once they'd had time to think them over. They rarely changed for the better.

He got out of his truck with purpose but faced with the prospect of actually approaching us seemed to make dawdle. He kicked at the ground a second before finally coming over.

How's it going, Billy Ray? Jack asked with a level of casual I hoped to some day achieve.

It's going. He replied and then watched as Jack put my weaponry duffle bag into the backseat.

You guys heading out?

Amy is. I'm going to be joining her in a few days.

I gave Billy Ray a little nod and stuck close to Jack in case he needed my help.

Billy Ray squinted his eyes and looked away from us and into the sun for a moment before turning back.

Those things didn't come back. I was up most of the night last night...waiting... but it was nothing but calm and peaceful.

Well, I told you they were gone. They won't trouble you again.

We ain't kin, are we? He asked suddenly.

I think you already know the answer to that. Jack replied with a small smile.

Yeah, I 'spose I do. He paused. What...are you folks?

Just people passing through. I finally said. That's all.

Are you two...aliens?

I am. She's not. He replied quickly

Billy Ray stared agog, his eyes having grown wide.

Look, Amy's leaving today and I'll be gone by Sunday and you'll never hear from either of us again.

Jack took a step towards Billy Ray. I thought he might back up but he held his ground.

You were just part of some really, really big and important, my friend. And I'm sorry to say that a lot of people aren't going to believe you. But it happened. It was real. And believe me when I say, you and your friends and family, you all may have just helped save the planet that night.

Billy Ray frowned with disbelief.

Aww, go on. He said quietly.

Jack shrugged and helped me into the cab of the truck and shut the door. He then went around and got into the drivers seat and turned on the engine.

Just try and remember that. Don't forget what you fought against. Don't forget you were a hero. But do me a favor...forget the two of us ever existed.

Jack started to pull away but Billy Ray banged on the door of the truck to get our attention

Thank you...for what you did back there. Thank you both.

You're welcome. Jack and I said in unison before I added. Take care of little Amanda. And tell her I'm sorry for making her cry.

With that we drove off.

I think...I think that was a small slice of what so much of your life has been like, hasn't it Doctor. Helping people, doing what you can. Showing them what they can do and then leaving and just hoping for the best. It's hard, but I guess its necessary.

Not long after, I was standing in the airport and Jack and I were saying our goodbyes.

After you're done, come stay with us, ok? You need a break. You need...well you need some family time, alright?

He seemed a bit too surprised to speak and instead he just gave me a smile and a wordless nod.

I pulled him into a hug whether he wanted it or not.

Take care of yourself, love.

He nodded against me.

I'll do my best.

And don't be a stranger, yeah?

Promise. He pulled back and smiled at me again. Tell that husband of yours... He faltered for a moment. You just...uh...tell him to treat you right. Captain's orders.

I gave him a little salute, a kiss on the cheek and turned away.

Bye, Amy. He called after me.

Now, I'm sitting on a plane headed home. I believe we're over Pennsylvania now, so not too much longer. I wrote to Rory, told him I'd hail a cab and be home before he knew it. I can't wait to hug my babies. I can't wait to feel his arms around me again.

It will be nice to get back to normal. Our normal.

And see, Doctor, for all your worrying and hand wringing I'm absolutely fine.

I'm still mad, impossible Amelia Pond.

And I always will be.

Love across the stars,

Your Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so that's the end of the Kelly-Hopkinsville incident. I asked you awhile back not to skip ahead and read up on it but if you're interested feel free to give it a search now. I'm a bit relieved that's done. As I mentioned earlier, I'm rubbish at writing action, so I hope it was alright.
> 
> And yes, I put in a little unrequited longing there from Captain Jack. Why wouldn't he feel a bit of an attraction to Amy?
> 
> I'm maybe toying with another skip-ahead but I'm not sure yet.


	169. August 25, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**25 of August, 1955**

Rory had the brilliant idea that a perfect way for the children to welcome me home was to bake me a cake. I think he was so excited and filled with such nervous energy at the prospect of seeing me that he needed something to do with his hands. And the idea of chasing two exuberant kids around a kitchen while simultaneously trying to produce a baked good would fit the bill.

I got out of the cab and was greeted first by Vickie and Anthony darting across the lawn towards me. I dropped my bags, crouched down and held open my arms enveloping both my babies in a hug.

Mommy!

We missed you, Mom.

And I missed you both. I said giving them each a big kiss on the cheek.

How was your conference and tour-thing? Anthony asked.

Oh...it was wonderful. I had a marvelous time but I missed you both so, so much I could hardly stand it!

I grabbed them again for an even tighter hug this time and it felt so good to have and hold them there.

When I glanced up I saw Rory approaching with a smile on his face. I stood up and returned the smile right back to him.

Well, Hello Mr. Pon-

But I didn't get to finish because he pulled me into a soft, deep kiss.

When we finally broke apart I giggled a bit breathlessly. That man could still makes me go weak-kneed.

Rory, what will the neighbors think? I teased.

Well, the women will think; I wish my husband kissed me like that. And the men will think; I wonder if he gives seminars. God, I missed you.

I felt his eyes on me, scrutinizing every inch, every pore, trying to find all the injuries and stories I wanted to keep secret. Thankfully he was interrupted by Vickie.

Daddy, can we show Mommy now?

Goober, you're gonna ruin the surprise. Anthony said indignantly.

I'm not a goober! Daddy, tell Anthony I'm not a goober.

Anthony behave and yes, we can show Mummy now and no, you are not a goober.

Rory grabbed one of my bags and I saw the surprised little pride filled glance he gave Anthony when he took the other all on his own and into the house we went.

Not only had they made me a cake, Doctor, but they'd made a sign as well! Welcome Home, Mommy! We Missed you!

I was so glad to be back with them, Doctor and that little banner and the lopsided cake with the gray icing made me tear up. We had dessert first that evening, something we tried to assure the children would not become a habit.

Um, why is the icing gray? I whispered to Rory at one point.

Oh, they wanted to see what happened when you mixed all the food coloring together. I think Vicki thought it would make a rainbow. She was a tad disappointed. Tastes pretty good though.

We had a simple dinner. I didn't want much, I could see Rory, like me was exhausted and the kids were thrilled with grilled cheese and crisps.

We all watched a bit of telly then Rory popped in Pirates of the Caribbean for the kids, a few hours later we tucked them in and then finally it was time for bed.

Rory had done everything. Dinner, dessert, the washing up and a little before I'd finished up at my desk - I wanted to write Jack a quick thank you note and let him know I'd gotten in alright - he had disappeared.

When I headed to our bedroom not long after I found him lighting the last of a few candles lining the tub.

What's all this? I asked with a surprised smile. I would have been overjoyed just to find clean pyjamas laid out on the bed.

This is a little time for you to decompress. I've got your favorite bubble bath, your favorite wine already poured, your iPod is playing, the water is scalding hot just like you like it and you can enjoy it all by candlelight.

I was practically salivating at the idea. Suddenly I started to feel every bit as grimy as I was from battling aliens, the dust of Kentucky and the general muck of an airport.

This may be the loveliest sight I've ever seen.

Rory chuckled and kissed me on the cheek.

I thought you might say that. Now, strip down and I'll take your clothes to the wash. I've hung your dressing gown here and when you're ready, come to bed.

I did as he said, taking off my clothes and sliding into the water with a groan. He bundled them away, gave me a smile and closed the door.

I stayed in the tub until it lost it's wonderful biting heat and then when it became room temperature. I regretfully got out before it turned cold. But that was alright. It had done it's job and I felt delightfully gooey and relaxed. Blowing out the candle and grabbing my robe I left the room and there was Rory waiting patiently on the bed with a big smile.

Better?

Worlds better.

Good, then come over here.

He motioned to the bed and I bent over to kiss him, tugging him close.

Quite impetuous aren't we? But that's not what I had in mind. Lie down.

I was surprised but I did what he asked. Rory was apparently in charge.

I laid down on the bed and he turned to face me his legs folded beneath him. Gently he took my foot into his lap and coating his palms with a bit of nearby lotion he began rubbing my soles.

The sound that escaped from my lips was almost comically scandalous.

Oh God..Rory, yes.

I do so love that I can make you make that noise, just by touching your feet.

This right here. This is the stuff. Oh please don't stop.

I have no intention of stopping.

He then proceeded to give me the best full body massage I have ever, ever had. Working his fingertips into knots and tight muscles until I felt even more gelatinous than before. Eventually he asked me turn over and I shimmied out of the robe and flopped onto my back like a graceless mackerel. He was deliberate as he started in on my lower back. Every so often I heard him tsk as he encountered a bruise or a cut but for the most part, save for my encouraging groans we were silent. He was especially gentle around my shoulder, easing the tension but not inflaming the areas where it was still incredibly sore.

Do you want to tell me about it? He asked softly.

Yeah...absolutely. Just not right now. I need some distance.

Ok. He replied.

Rory...this is...thank you. Most of what I said was muffled by the pillow but he heard me anyway.

Ah, yes it is quite the sacrifice to be touching and rubbing your naked body.

I propped up on an elbow with a sleepy, melty smile on my face and glanced back at him.

No, I mean it. Not just the cake and the bath and the massage. For supporting me in going. For not holding it against me. For...loving me for who I am.

I'm sorry if I ever asked you to be less than you are. He said seriously. I love you fully and I will always, always support you. No matter what.

Rory...do you know what I could really use right now?

He raised an eyebrow and gave me an amused yet hopeful look.

Really? Because I figured with your shoulder and everything-

Not that. I mean not that that wouldn't be great but...a holiday. A holiday would be wonderful.

I'd love to give that to you, darling, but I think I'd go crazy if you left now just when I got you back.

Not that kind of holiday. Remember how we said we would coordinate our calendar with the Doctor? We could just pick a day and make a new memory?

He brightened at the possibility.

Yeah! That's a great idea. A mini vacation! I'll go grab them.

So that's what we did, Doctor. We looked and we checked and we double checked and we synced and synchronize our watches and everything else we could think of to make certain of a perfectly ordinary day where you could stop by and visit us.

And this is what we came up with.

May 3rd, 2019, just a run of the mill ordinary Friday

What do you say, Doctor? Care to make it extraordinary?

Love across the stars. Meet us in your future and we'll meet you in our past.

-Always, always yours,

Amy & Rory


	170. May 3, 2019/August 26, 1955

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this chapter is a little different. I went round and round about how to do it because I couldn't think of how to describe a shared memory. I didn't especially want to give it it to one of them and not the other, though I suppose this narration still favors Amy a bit. I think I just needed it to be a standalone and not a journal entry. Rather, imagine Amy and Rory just relaxing, closing their eyes and watching as this new memory plays out in their minds like a movie. I hope this works!

**You Are Cordially Invited**

"No, to the left, Rory. _Your_ left, not my left." Amy said but the words came out less testy and more amused than one might expect.

"Alright, alright, but you should know I can't really see anything."

"Is it lined up with the pencil marks?"

"I just told you I couldn't see anything."

"I think we need a third person." Amy said with a sigh. Puffing out her cheeks she blew an errant strand of hair from off her forehead. "Alright, lets bring it down for now." She said lowering her end of the rod and brightly colored curtains.

"Thank heaven. Pizza break then." Rory replied setting his end on the ground gently and grabbing a slice from the box on the kitchen table.

"You took another one with all these cheese!" She accused.

"I did not!"

"Yes you did. The pizza was poorly delivered and as you can see there is an unequal distribution of cheese and you have been picking from the extra cheesy side."

Rory covered his mouth and tried to suppress a laugh but it was no use.

"Giggling like the cheese thief you are." Amy said as she wrapped her arms around him with a grin. Gleefully Rory gave her a bit of spin.

"Alright then. I hereby bestow unto you the cheesy side of the pizza. I'll stay relegated to the mushy side with only dough and sauce."

"That may be the grandest sacrifice you've ever made for me." She replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"Well, now you're going to get it." He replied and lunged for the sprayer on the side of the sink. Turning on the water he aimed a stream directly at his wifes head, laughing as she squealed.

"At least aim for getting my t-shirt wet, moron. If it gets wet, we have sex then we don't have to finish hanging these."

Amy paused as she noticed the look on Rory's face. He was staring out of the window, no longer using the sprayer and a part of her was afraid to turn around.

"Rory...what is it?"

"It's the Doctor. In our backyard. Just...standing."

Amy turned about, fast, nearly slipping on the slickened kitchen floor.

"What's he doing? How did we not hear him land?" She said with a shake of her head.

He seemed to finally notice them looking at him through the glass and Amy saw him straighten up. She hadn't noticed right away that he was hunched.

"Another question is why did he land out there? He always just parks the TARDIS in our living room."

Rory hurried toward the door and with a grin grabbed the handle, yanking it open.

"Oi! You coming in or what?"

Both Ponds rushed outside eager to meet their friend. Though...Amy did hang back a bit. There was just something about his demeanor that troubled her. Their yard was dark and the Doctor so far hadn't said a word to them yet. And why did he look so different? The way he was standing, the way he was holding his head. His outline seemed all wrong.

"Rory." She said softly but her husband didn't hear her. Instead he rushed up to the Maybe-Doctor and gave him a hug.

Amy didn't know what she expected to see.

No that isn't true. She knew exactly what she feared she might see. The Doctor's body but without the Doctor's face. A new face. A different one. An old one. One that betrayed the youth he was always trying to exude. And she didn't mean regeneration either. Just...his real face. Or at least an impression of what that might be.

It wasn't that she hadn't accepted the fact that he was so, so much older than he appeared. That wasn't a problem, it never was or could be. But the idea of him  _getting_  old. Accepting it. Letting it seep into his bones and settle in to make a home. That frightened her.

So she held back.

"Hello, Amy." He said. And she still couldn't see his face. Why wouldn't he just move? Why wouldn't he step out from the shade of the TARDIS and their tree? Why-

But just then the moon came out from behind a thick cloud. Bold and silver and bright and she saw him clearly and he wasn't Old-Doctor or Maybe-Doctor, he was just the Doctor. He was her Raggedy Man.

Why had she been so silly?

In a second she rushed into his arms.

"So good to see you, Doctor." She held the hug for a bit and even once she'd pulled back from it just to look at him she gripped his hand tightly. "Missed you."

"Missed you both more."

"Why didn't we hear you land?" Rory asked and gazed at the TARDIS, reaching a hand out to stroke the box. "Hello, old thing. You alright?"

"I thought I was the only one who talked to her like that?" The Doctor said with an amused smile.

"She and I go way back." Rory grinned. "But...is she ok? How did you slip in on stealth mode? Oh, is Melody about?" And they both turned to each other excitedly. The prospect of seeing the Doctor and their daughter on some nondescript Friday was almost too much to hope for.

"Hmm? No, just me. Oh and I shut the brakes off this time. Wanted to see what all the fuss was about. You're changing things around, I see." He said gesturing to their house.

"Oh yeah," Amy began. "There was a small-

" _Large_." Rory supplied.

"Alright there was a large-ish grease fire the other day and the kitchen curtains went up in flame and smoke so we're hanging new ones."

The Doctor nodded, there was a smile on his face but it was rather distant.

"I could see right in. I was just watching you two go about your lives."

"Well we weren't doing anything scandalous were we, Doctor?" Amy asked lightheartedly but he didn't reply.

"Doctor? Is everything alright?" Rory ventured, his brow furrowing in concern.

Whatever it was, the Doctor seemed to visibly shake it off, making a decision to leave it out back at the foot of the TARDIS because a moment later he set off in quick strides towards the house.

"Yes. Yes! Yes, of course, Rory everything is fine. Better than fine. Marvelous. Maybe even better than marvelous. How good the two of you look. Well, come on lets go inside so you can get changed."

"Changed? For what? Where are we going?" Amy asked. She hurried after him, Rory by her side, following their best-friend into the warmth of the kitchen.

Under those lights he looked exactly as she expected him to, exactly as she'd hoped. Maybe...maybe a line or two more around his eyes and mouth. One or two strands of gray? Or was that her imagination? He didn't stay still long enough for her to get an actual look.

"A wedding!" He said placing a top hat onto Amy's head. She had no idea where it had come from. "But you can't go dressed like that." He said immediately removing the hat.

"Who's getting married?" Rory said, offering the Doctor a slice of pizza. He took a bite and then just as quickly let it slide off his tongue into his open palm.

"Euughh. Why does it taste like that?"

"Because it's pizza." Rory said calmly as Amy giggled.

"Oh, well that explains it. But, to answer your question. Lord and Lady and Lord Knox of the Eighth Circle of the Descending Trees of Opalescence.

"It's a three person wedding?" Rory said as he took a napkin to remove the barely chewed pizza from the Doctors palm and toss it in the bin.

No it's a two person wedding. Lady Knox is marrying Lord Perrin, Third in line to the throne of the Corinthian Valley of Gossamer Tears. Or maybe it's in the Valley of Gossamer Tears. Can't recall, invitation's back on the console, we'll figure out directions then."

"But wait," Amy began. "You said it's a two person wedding but you mentioned four people.

"This isn't that difficult to follow, Pond. Lady Knox is getting married but Lord Knox and Lord Knox, respectively are against it. But, she's the head that controls the arms so she wins out.

"The Knox's have three heads?" Rory asked.

"Well, really I thought that was obvious. I leave you two alone for a few months and you get as dull as turnips."

"Seven months." Amy said quickly.

"What?"

"It's been seven months. Seven months since we last saw you."

The Doctor looked at them and for a moment the manic mask dropped. Neither one them liked what they saw behind it...such sadness. But then a second later it was gone.

"Really? I hadn't thought it had been nearly that long. It feels even longer. So, if the powerful draw of hanging curtains can be placed aside for a bit, go change into formal wear and meet me at the TARDIS quick as you can."

They both started to bound away happily not knowing just how adventure starved they'd been until this precise moment.

"Oh, Rory? Is Brian about? I thought he might like a trip as well?" The Doctor asked hopefully.

"Sorry, it's hard to catch Dad these days. Last time he checked in with us he was headed to the Temple of the Sun in Machu Picchu." Rory shrugged and headed upstairs hot on Amy's heels.

Not much more than ten minutes later they were double checking that everything was shut off; lights, faucets, etc, mopping up the puddles of water on the kitchen floor, grabbing the remains of the pizza and dashing out towards the TARDIS. They were dressed in their finest and upon entering that wonderful blue box, their old familiar friend, they saw the Doctor was as well.

"Ready?" He asked with a gleam in his eye, clearly proud of the tuxedo he was wearing.

Amy and Rory grabbed hold of the console and nodded as he sent them into the vortex.

Calling it a wedding was an understatement. This was a galaxy wide celebration. The planet was teeming with dignitaries, visitors, hangers on, prize winners and ticket holders because this was the event of the millennium. It would be hard to choose a highlight of the ceremony. Perhaps the fact that ever attendant was provided with their own little ear piece which conveniently translated the proceedings into their native tongue. Or the argument that Lady Knox and Lord Knox...one of them, launched into at the altar with Lord Knox threatening to leave. Or it could have been the reception afterwards where some of the guests looked liked food and the food looked like guests. It didn't matter, it was all wonderful and marvelous and exciting and somehow exactly what they needed.

"And it's not over yet!" The Doctor said when they returned to the TARDIS hours later.

Amy kicked off her shoes plopping down into one of the chairs near the console.

"You've got more in store for us, do you?" She asked.

"What could top that for today?" Rory asked with a chuckle.

"How about reservations at the most exclusive spa in your solar system? The Chateau Olympus Mons on Mars. It's a hotel, built on top of an extinct volcano that's three times the height of Mt. Everest. A bit over 14 miles high especially when you're booked into the penthouse suite."

Amy and Rory stared at one another agog. It was just this shy of being too good to be true.

"Doctor that sounds amazing!" Amy said.

And again they set off. They didn't have any bags to check in, but the TARDIS wardrobe always provided whatever they might need. The room was enormous, likely made for 30 people not 3. The room service menu was the size of a directory for a small village. There were activities and activities and more activities and for a good chunk of the day Amy and Rory made certain to try and many as they could. Concluding the day with a mud bath filled with real Martian red clay. Rory hadn't enjoyed that too much and had left early. Still he was enough of a gentleman to wait to take his shower until after Amy had finished hers. At the moment he was scrubbing mud from what he called "Very unusual places." The Doctor had been with them every step of the way, more exuberant and engaged with the little mundane activities than he usually was. It was new. It was nice. Still...she was curious about something.

"So, why now? What made you decide to come see us?"

They were sitting there on an absurdly opulent terrace at the top of this absurdly opulent mountain looking out over the wonderful red expanse of Mars.

"I guess I just thought you could do with a holiday." He said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Do I need anymore reason than that?"

"No, of course not."

Amy noted that he was twirling a thick strand of her hair around his finger, winding and unwinding it, his eyes glued to his actions as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. "You know...I do miss you."

Amy perked up but tried not to let it show too much. Too much interest and he'd surely change the subject.

"Oh?"

"Everyday. I don't want you to think that I just fly off and you never cross my mind. But it does my hearts good to know that...that you'd be ok."

"Ok if what?" She asked but he only looked off towards where the three lava domes of what he had told them were Arsia Mons, Pavonis Mons and Ascraeus Mons rose in the distance.

She hadn't notice Rory arriving until he took a seat on the other side of the Doctor.

"Ok if I didn't come back."

Amy looked horrified at the thought.

"Why would you say something like that? Why would you even mention the idea of not coming back for us?"

Rory took a slightly more calm approach. "What, are you breaking up with us?" He asked with an amused raise of his brows.

"No, I'm...I mean...can't we just talk? Like normal?" The Doctor sputtered.

"Of course we can. You're just being odd, even for you. You know if you need our help we're always here for you. That's what family is for." Rory replied.

He closed his eyes for a second and whether he was gathering his words or his thoughts Amy didn't know.

"I think I stayed away too long. Stupid, foolish old man."

"Alright, enough of that. Ok, so what, you should have come back sooner. Guess what, I agree. But there's nothing for it now. There's no point in moaning about the past especially when you've got the present right here and it's pretty damn good, eh?"

She grinned, in that infectious Pond way that she had that left no room for contradiction or sadness and after a moment he returned the smile.

"You're right." He replied. "Though I suppose I should leave you to it. No fun having a third wheel hanging around." He said rising to go. But Rory put a strong hand on his shoulder pulling him back down with a thunk.

"I don't think so. The night is still young and besides you always do this. You always run out on us at times like this."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you do?" Amy agreed. "Have you ever known me to hold my tongue?"

"Not once." The Doctor agreed.

"Well then, if I wanted you to go, don't you think I'd probably say, Doctor, hit the bricks?"

"Yes, I suppose you would."

"Good, well right now," She said resting a hand on his. "I'm... _We're_ saying you should hang around."

He brightened then as if those were the only words he'd ever really wanted to hear.

"Alright. I'll hang around."

And so he did. Eventually they moved back inside the massive hotel room. They laughed and told stories and the Doctor caught them up on his life as they did the same for him. They drank wine and jumped on the bed and turned on the telly to watch live footage of people climbing the very mountain they were on.

"It takes 14 days from the south face. A good 20 if you're coming from the north." The Doctor remarked casually.

"Oh God, turn it off, Rory, I think I'd start screaming if one of them fell."

"Reality TV gets even weirder, I suppose." Rory said with a shrug.

As the evening wore down Amy could tell the Doctor was working on just how and when to make an exit.

"You should stay." She said before he could say anything.

"Stay?" The Doctor asked.

"Yeah, stay." Amy said.

"Stay or  _stay_ -stay?" Rory asked. He was stretched out lazily on the bed in pyjama pants and a tshirt.

"Oh." Amy said quickly. It seemed she hadn't anticipated  _stay_ -stay being on the docket. "I hadn't..."

"Really, because I assumed you had." Rory said with a laugh. "I'm just saying if the plan was always that he was to  _stay_ -stay I wouldn't have had quite so much to drink."

Of course. He was drunk. That explained to Amy why his tongue was suddenly so much looser than normal.

"Um, hang on a tick. You're both repeating this word as if by the repetition and emphasis it takes on a different meaning. What exactly does  _stay_ -stay mean?"

Suddenly Amy wished she'd had more wine because  _her_  tongue had developed a definite knot in it.

"It means..." She jerked her head in the direction of the bed they were sitting on and the Doctor, baffled, repeated the motion.

"Oh for God sakes." Rory said with exasperation. "Sex. Sex! It means sex! We are offering you sex, Doctor. Would you be interested in partaking in sex!"

Amy grabbed a pillow and tossed it at Rory.

"Subtle!"

"Well, with the both of you pantomiming we were never going to actually just get to it. It's just like Christmas, so much hemming and hawing." He said with mock exasperation.

The Doctor usually blushed and got more than a bit frazzled whenever a conversation turned so blunt. Even on Christmas there'd been a few times where he'd looked like he wanted to hide under a rock. So both Ponds found themselves surprised when he burst out laughing.

"Still the same, the two of you. Just like I remember." He said fondly.

"You know us, Doctor." Amy said with a soft grin. "We never change. Not even when we're old and gray. So...?"

"Would you be terribly offended if I said...no?"

Amy and Rory looked at each other as if deciding on their feelings in that moment. At the same time both of them shrugged.

"No, not offended." Rory said. "I was just an offer, mate."

"No pressure." Amy added. "It's just that we...well we enjoyed last time and we wanted to make sure you knew that." She paused and glanced at Rory who added.

"We weren't exactly sure we had told you."

"No, you did, you told me." He insisted before continuing candidly. "In every way that has ever mattered you told me. And I enjoyed it as well. Very, very much."

The Doctor sighed with a combination of relief and what appeared to be frustration with himself.

"It's just that with-"

"You don't have to explain." Rory said. "Your reasons are you own."

"And you don't owe us an apology either, if that's what you're thinking." Amy filled in. "We just wanted you to know you're invited."

They watched as he relaxed a bit more.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "Thank you for always making a place for me."

"But," Rory began. "You are going to sleep here with us tonight. This is a ginormous bed in a ginormous room and it's silly for you to go anywhere. So just strip down to whatever you're comfortable wearing and climb in. I'm ready for some shut-eye."

Without a word of protest the Doctor did just that, climbing into bed, each man bookending Amy. They said their good-nights, the room darkened and Amy drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the night she felt him shudder, a great shaking intake of breath just this side of a sob. The Doctor had been facing her but now he was turned away. His back rising and falling, his shoulders looking so thin. She wanted to pull him tightly against her. He suddenly seemed so small.

She saw him start to move as if to leave the bed but the hands of both Ponds reached out to stop him.

"Sorry, mate. Unless you've got to piss you're staying where you are. Just...be happy."

"Rory's right." Amy added. "There's no escaping from the our clutches." This time she did tug him closer and then she heard him give a broken sort of laugh before agreeing.

"Indeed."

"Be happy." She said echoing Rory's words.

"I'm sorry. I'll stay. Goodnight, Amy."

"Night, Doctor."

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Rory?"

" _Do_  you piss?"

"Good _night_ , Rory."

The next day was some how just as fantastic as the first.

"Now, I'll be the first one to say that Mars has gotten a bit too gentrified and commercial since they added the shopping centers and oxygen dome but I do love this beach."

They lounged by the water created from a massive, melted ice cap that filled the same space where an ancient ocean has once rested. They built rust red sandcastles and stared up at three hazy circles of light far in the distance.

"That one on top is Phobus." Rory pointed out. "The one on the bottom Venus. And there, right in the middle is Earth. That's home."

"No," Amy said taking both their hands from the towel where she lay between them. "This is home, right between the two of you. I don't quite want this to end."

But of course...it had to. Real life called as it always did. Rory got a text on his long ago soniced phone about picking up an early shift. Amy remembered she had an article due and as much as she'd love to write in about their time on Mars she wanted to actually keep her job.

The Doctor did quite easily talk them into one more night. And just as before, he slept in their bed, except this time they both insisted he sleep between them. Amy heard the sigh again, small and broken. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake but she put her hand to his cheek and he pressed his face into the caress.

And then they were home and it was nearly over.

"You're going to come back soon, right?" She asked as she held him close on their backyard lawn. "No staying away for ages and ages. We miss you." She bit her lip. "We miss you so much."

She felt him bury his face against the shoulder of her jacket, just for second before he pulled away.

"You name the date and I'll be there." He promised.

Amy laughed not understanding what he meant. It was probably just a phrase he'd picked up. He liked to do that, pick up phrases and sayings and try them on like a new coat or hat.

Rory hugged him as well.

"Take care of yourself, alright? Try not to be  _so_ , daft."

The ancient man gave them a little salute.

"Right, doctors orders."

Amy and Rory shared a glance but then turned back to their friend. It was always so hard watching him leave. But for the first time in a long while she felt maybe it was harder for him to go."

"You know you could stay. For a bit...I mean. I know you won't but..." She trailed off though the offer was sincerely meant.

Rory put his arm around her shoulder and they both watched as he seemed to lean against the blue door of his ship almost heavily.

"I would love to, dears. But I can't, I really, really can't. But...I think this went ok, don't you? I think, maybe I could do this again."

Amy shook her head not understanding this. Not only was he just spouting nonsense but that feeling she'd had when he'd first arrived had returned. He seemed older, tired, sad as if he'd just put on a young face to please them.

Thoughts like that made her skin crawl.

"Yes, I shall come back." And then he chuckled. "Sorry, old joke, very old joke." The Doctor clapped his hands together rubbing them furiously like always. "Alright Ponds, you've got patients to write and words to cure."

"What are you going to do?" Amy asked.

"Me? Probably catch up on some reading" Opening the door he swiftly stepped inside before flashing them a smile. "Until next time then."

"Until next time." Rory repeated.

His hand was on the door and he was in the process of closing it but he stopped just before it shut and poked his head out. He gave them a long look, heavy and lingering.

"I do so love you both." He said quickly, softly and then he was gone, having disappeared back into the expanse of his home. The engines roared, the brakes clearly back to what he thought of as their appropriate position and the Ponds shielded their eyes against the onslaught of wind as their friend flew away.

It was always good to return home. In the beginning, years and years and years ago when she and Rory hadn't been who they were today, coming back to their house after a trip like that might have been a letdown. The Doctor had a way of making a house, a city, a planet feel small. But now, as they'd grown it seemed a little bit easier. Real life sort of went on without much help from them. After all, besides just showing up for work, making a few appearances at parties, paying a bill here and there what else was there? Why would anyone ever give up running with the Doctor? How could Leadworth or London or anywhere else compete with what they had? It seemed now, that they were both equally afraid of settling down, unless it was with each other. Amy was happy to finally welcome Rory over to her way of thinking.

"Do you think he thinks about us when we're not with him?" Amy said as they lay in bed together that night.

"He said he did. I believe him."

"But we're so small. Do you ever think about how we could matter so much to him? I worry about that sometimes."

"The Doctor is terrible when it comes to artifice, with you and I, at least. Plus you heard him, he said he loves us."

"Yeah...I had the best time these past two days. Better than I've had in...I can't remember when."

"Me too." Rory said with a smile in his voice that she knew was there even in the dark of their bedroom.

"I'm worried about him." she said finally.

There was a long pause in the dark and then her husbands arms around her tightened.

"Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So yeah a bit of a departure there but I hoped you liked it. It was so weird remembering to use quotation marks again. And yeah, no sex scene but if you want some of those there are plenty in "Come And Knock On Our Door" (which can be found on FF dot net). I wanted to make sure this seemed hard for the Doctor. It would hurt, it must hurt, saying goodbye to people you've lost and then popping back into their lives when they're vibrant, young and here. To be bursting with secrets about them but unable to tell. Wanting to hold them so tightly that they can hardly breathe but knowing you've already said and done too much. But in the end, despite the pain of it, I wanted to make it clear that he would and he will do it again. I also thought that just by carrying around all that pain and combining that with being around them, he'd even look different, walk different, hold himself different.
> 
> I chose "You Are Cordially Invited" as the title because there are a lot of invitations and offerings in this particular part of the story. In the last chapter Amy and Rory invite the Doctor to make a memory with them. In a way the whole essence of the Doctor is an invitation that just says "Come away with me. Run away with me. Run." And Amy and Rory writing these letters is inviting the Doctor back into their lives.


	171. September 5, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of September, 1955

There's something about a new, old memory, Doctor. It unfolds in your mind, slowly, as some dormant part of you lives it, brand new. And you get to savor it slowly as it blooms. It is a rare and beautiful treat and both Amy and I feel so... _blessed_  to have had it.

Thank you, dear.

The wedding was lovely.

Mars was lovely.

You were lovely.

Hearing your voice again, seeing your face, feeling the weight of you next to us in bed. It was more than I could have hoped. Greedily we want it again.

However...

God, do I even want to tell you this?

Ok, I'll be honest. After it was over, it hurt.

If I tell you something will you promise me it won't dissuade you from doing this again?

Alright. I'm assuming you agreed and I'm holding you to that.

We ended up getting a bit...sad after it was all over. Now, not then. It was hard coming back to this world so...so absent of you after we both felt you, lived you, breathed you. Things felt a bit more raw here, drawn out and dull. But at the same time everything was too bright, over focused, overdone. Does that make any sense? I suppose we should have expected it.

Remember what we discussed while Amy was in the shower? I asked you who was with you the longest?

Impossible to say really.

I suppose I can't imagine anyone leaving this. Leaving you.

There was a time when all you wanted to do was leave this.

Things change. I said with a shrug.

And they will again. You'll grow...weary of this, Rory. Everyone does. Even I do. That's why I have to go about collecting people.

I had bristled at that, bristled at the idea that I was just one of many. Just another interchangeable piece in your life. Bristled at the idea that maybe you thought I didn't have the stomach for this or the heart.

Collecting people, eh? I had said and perhaps it came out colder than I meant and I'm sorry for that.

Hey...no, I didn't mean it like..that wasn-

When I think back now I see that frantic look in your eye as you turned to me. But then I had thought you just knew you'd been caught in a rather thoughtless gaffe. Now, I know better.

Rory, you and Amy are different...you're special.

I bet you say that to all the girls.

I remember you looked at me and then looked away, your jaw working in that way you have, like you were literally forming the words in your mouth before you said them.

You have no idea what I was like years ago. Do you recall how the Daleks said It is known the Doctor requires companions.

I'd of course just blinked at you, because no, that hadn't happened yet. You realized your mistake and closed your eyes before continuing.

It's true. I can't travel alone. You would be amazed at-...that box, when it's empty, when it's just me...well then, it really  _isn't_  bigger on the inside. It's just as small and cramped and tiny as you could imagine. Without my friends...and family, I'm just an old man flying around in blue cupboard getting sadder and angrier by the moment. I've had so many people come and go. People I cared for deeply.

You let out a dry and tired sort of chuckle then.

I'm one of the few beings in the universe who hugs at arms length.

Well...my Dad was pretty good at that too for awhile. I ventured. But he's gotten better.

You smiled at me then and nodded and to my surprise put your hand atop mine where it was resting beside you.

Doctor, you're not like that you know? I mean, not anymore.

Not with you. May I be honest, Rory?

Of course. I'd replied, somewhat fearful of how deep the well of your honesty might go. And how long it had been since those depths had been dredged.

I never wanted this.

Your words seemed more than a touch harsh and you appeared to know that as you squeezed my hand.

I could have had it. I could have stayed for the weddings and the Christmas dinners. I could have bought an alarm clock and a calendar and shown up for birthday parties. I could have taken lovers. I could have dawdled in lives and beds. I could have rutted like a Gallifreyan barely out of his 60's. I could have made love like someone who promised to stay. I could have whispered endearments. I could have written letters.

Your throat sort of closed up at that point and I waited silently for you to continue.

I could have stayed, at least for awhile. But I didn't and I did it on purpose. It was hard enough watching you all slow and gray and age and... You are mayflies, Rory. So fragile and impermanent. And one careless swat by me and you're gone. So I've always kept my distance. I danced so, so close with Rose. Too close. I got too attached with others. Jo. The Brigadier, My Sarah Jane, Poor Jamie. Donna. I set up rules for myself and I bent them, oh yes, I splintered them and weakened them but I never, ever broke them, not completely. Not until the two of you. I never wanted a family again, Rory. My family on Gallifrey burned to death. They're burning now. They will always burn in some infinite loop of hell that I can't bear to think about and I can't run away from it. I never wanted this, not again. Friends are hard enough to lose but ... And now here I am, word by word, page by page...what am I doing? What am I  _doing_?

What's all this talk about losing us? Are you here to give Amy and I some terrible, terminal diagnosis? Aren't we here, right now? Living and breathing in front of you?

I removed my hand from yours at this point. Sliding it from beneath to place it on top.

Aren't I real? Can't you feel me?

Always. And in some ways...that's the damnable misery of it.

When I think back I realize I'd never seen you more fragile. You never let us see you like this and that was probably why in that moment I was so bloody frightened. I remember inching closer to you and putting both my arms about you in an embrace. You seemed so...young. I felt like I was comforting a child who was suddenly coming to grips with the reality of their mortality and mine and how painful human connections could be.

The problem was I didn't know the right words to comfort you.

I can't promise I'm going to live forever, mate. I whispered. 2000 years is the longest stretch I've undertaken so far, so that's the number to beat.

You laughed at that softly and I smiled.

But I promise, I'll hang on and around as long as I can. And you know Amy. She's nigh indestructible. She'll outlive us all.

She'd hate that.

Eventually, sure. But she'd love that she got the last word in our arguments.

We broke from the hug, I gave you a peck on the lips which you returned and then you sighed deeply.

You have no idea why I'm telling you all this. You said with a shake of your head.

It doesn't matter. Or, rather I know it does matter but what matters most to me is that my best friend is upset. And maybe he just needs a bit of reassurance that we'll always be here. We're always checking and double checking to make sure that  _you'll_  come back here for  _us_. How about I promise that we'll always be here for you when you do come back? Is it bargain? I asked extending my hand.

You took it, sniffled and shook.

It's a bargain.

We'll never be so far you can't reach us, Doctor.

I watched as you closed your eyes again and leaned back, staring up at the sky, flooded with starlight. You didn't answer.

At that point Amy came back, cheery from the shower and giving me the go ahead to take my own. I gave you a little questioning look and you smiled and motioned me off. When I came back I could see you and Amy had been dancing around the same subject but I didn't want to let on to her what we'd spoken about. That's what the breaking-up-with-us crack was about. I tried to keep it light. I wanted to make you happy again. I wanted to make you smile. I wanted to yank you out of whatever you were mired in. How could I know at the time you were mired in us?

This all sounds so maudlin when I re-read it but I really did have a good time. We both did. And now, as we put more days between the memory of the event and ourselves a lot of the sadness has been washed away, leaving only the happiness at getting to see you again.

To say, we miss you, seems so ridiculously lacking.

But I will say again what I said all those years ago. We'll never be so far away that you can't reach us and we'll always be here when you come back.

We're right here.

And we love you.

Always, always yours,

Rory

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was important to me not to just gloss over what had happened. I was all prepared to head towards the next section of the story but then I realized, this would hurt them all. Yes, it would be wonderful and yes, we all always think "Oh, what I wouldn't give for just one more day with fill-in-the-blank." But what do we do once that day is over? How do we come to terms with all those awful feelings of loss that resurface? I think it would have the capability of catapulting a lot of us right back into mourning. But hopefully, eventually, we'd shake it off and just be grateful the experience happened.
> 
> And also, how do you like that? The Doctor made an appearance in the story! I had, at least a year ago, maybe more, planned for...well, never mind, I'm not going to tell you what I planned for because I haven't written it yet. You'll just have to wait! :P
> 
> My only point is this story has no real outline or script, it just happens in my head and I had no idea I was going to have him show up like this until it just popped into my head. But, sad as it was at times, I enjoyed writing it and seeing him again, however brief.


	172. September 9, 1955

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So, I decided to have Cordy's story differ a bit from Amy's. I gave Cordelia time with her wonderful imaginary friend as seven year old child. In fact he came back for her over and over again until one day...he just stopped. She never knew why and it hurt her beyond anything. And then one day, in the midst of an invasion of some sort of another (I haven't actually hammered all this out yet because I'm not certain how relevant it is) when she's 19 (maybe 21, again all to be determined later). After it's all over and the world is saved, due in part to her, she and the Doctor have a confrontation that evening in her yard. Again, just a taste of Cordelia Puddle. Just for fun.

**_Curator's Note: What follows is the cliffhanger ending to the first novel in Miss Pond-William's second series of Cordelia Puddle tales. This is believed to be either a second or third draft and we have preserved it here, typographical errors, strikethroughs and all. Considering the success this relaunch was met with, it too is a treasured part of our collection._ **

**Cordelia Puddle And The Return Of The Raggedy Man**

Cordelia drew her legs up closer to her body. She fought the urge to fold her arms atop her knees and then rest her chin on them. That would look too much like what a little girl would do, and she didn't want to look like a little girl to him.

Not now.

Sometimes she wondered if that had been the reason he'd abandoned her. Maybe she had been too small then. Not interesting enough. Not clever enough. Not brave enough.

The evening air was slicing through her nightie but she resisted the urge to complain about it or go off in search of a jumper. He was sitting next to her on the tiny bench that served mostly as decoration in her garden.

"Why did you leave me?" She said suddenly. In her fantasies, when she imagined confronting him when he came back,  _if_ he came back she always said it with spirited anger. She imagined herself standing high above him, the wind blowing her hair back in a majestic, billowy wave as she point an accusing and just finger down at him. Here in real life, her voice just sounded small and broken.

He turned to look at her and to her surprise he appeared nearly as sad as she felt.

"Because you needed to grow up. You needed to turn into this. And I wasn't helping. I was being old and selfish and I wasn't thinking of what you needed."

"But didn't we have fun? All the trips we took, all the adventures we had? Didn't we have good times?"

He smiled.

"We had the  _best_ times."

"Yeah. I thought so. But then when you left, the bottom dropped out. Do you have any idea what it's like to do that to an person? Just vanish, without any word or trace? Now imagine what it's like to do that to an eight year old."

She felt her voice going stronger and she stretched her legs out and put them on the ground, uncurling her body. It wasn't nearly so cold now.

"You left me! And when I was busy being dragged from psychiatrist to psychiatrist because they all thought I was daft I started getting angry with you. In fact, Doctor, I was able to cultivate a pretty vibrant and healthy fury."

"I-I can see that." He practically stuttered and inched a bit farther from her on the bench.

Here it was. Here was the moment she'd imagined. She extended her finger and pointed it at him as she rose to her feet. It was all going just as Cordelia Puddle had imagined, why, it was practically cinematic, the stars were shining, she had his undivided attention, a breeze even rushed by and lifted her hair a bit. Not exactly what she wanted, but that's what happened when you couldn't rent a wind machine. The point was, she wasn't a little girl anymore, holding his hand and running alongside him, her eyes shining up at her Doctor, the smartest, bravest, kindest, man a child could ever know.

It had been so nice _just to hold his hand_.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" She asked. "Do you have any idea!?"

"I'm starting to guess at a fairly decent theory at the moment, yes." The Doctor tugged at his bow tie and swallowed hard.

"Well, you don't have to guess. I'm going to fill you in completely and we'll have plenty of time because you're leaving here, right now, and you're taking me with you!"

 


	173. September 13, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of September 1955

Dear Doctor,

Have a gander at this!

**_Torchwood One_ **

_Mr. and Mrs. Williams,_

_You have been under our eye for some time now and it is with enthusiasm that we make this first official contact._

_Mrs. Williams, your bravery during the Thraske assault is commendable and has been noted in your file. Thank you for your commitment to the protection, security, safety and survival of planet Earth._

_Mr. Williams, we anticipate being equally pleased when you are called into action._

_Your official designation is Torchwood Black. Communications and planet wide alerts will arrive via a secure channel from Torchwood One, however your main point of contact will be Captain Jack Harkness (Torchwood White) per his request._

_Our understanding of who and what you are is lacking. Please fill out the enclosed questionnaire. We also require a detailed list of any future-tech and or alien-tech currently in your possession._

_Your compliance is appreciated._

_Your current status is Active._

_The current Threat Level is Elevated._

Hear that, Doctor, I have a  _file_. Are they taking the piss? Can you believe these pretentious, self important twats? As if we have any intention of taking orders from them. I've half a mind to write them back and give them what for but as it is they're getting their questionnaire back in shreds. Rory and I made it clear from the beginning, we answer to no one. But what does it matter, they can't make us do anything we don't want to. Not to sound cocky but we're still under the protection of the crown and the Prime Minister.

That does sound cocky, doesn't it?

But I rather fancy the title of Torchwood Black. It sounds so covert, makes me wish I had a code name. And no, not The Legs.

I know, I know, I can hear your voice as if you were in the room.

Amelia! This isn't a game. You have to take this seriously!

And I am, I promise. Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid.

Melody isn't going to be happy about this is she? You're probably not too happy about it either.

But as Rory said just before I left, this is the life we've chosen and so far, at least, we don't have any regrets.

Stop worrying, Doctor. Have some faith that you've taught us well.

Love across the stars,

Amy

 


	174. September 21, 1955

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

21th of September, 1955

Dear Doctor,

Today was a different sort of anniversary.

We don't always celebrate it. Just sometimes. Sometimes when we need it and I guess this year we felt we did.

I was standing in the bathroom applying a few finishing touch ups to my makeup and chatting with Vickie who was perched on the closed toilet lid.

Can I have some lipstick too?

Of course you can, baby. I took her little chin in mine and added the colour to her lips. There you go. My goodness, how pretty you look! Of course you're always pretty.

She grinned at herself in the mirror and I hugged her close. She'd lost her first front tooth after I'd gotten back from Kentucky and I'd been so glad I hadn't missed that. She'd been too amazed that it happened to cry and she'd gotten a nickel from the tooth fairy that next morning which she proudly showed to all of us. Now when she talked she whistled a bit and I just wanted to snuggle her to pieces.

Mommy?

Yes, sweetpea?

When I grow up I'm going to marry Daddy. She put her hand over her mouth and giggled.

You are? Well that's a very good choice and believe me, I happen to know. I said with a serious nod.

And after we get married you can live with us.

That is very generous of you, Lady Victoria. I said booping her nose. I think I'll take you up on it.

I felt a sudden pang as I remembered being little and wanting to marry my own Daddy. I thought he was the smartest, cleverest, most handsome man in the world. Silly, befuddled, balding, portly Augustus Pond from Dingwall, Scotland. He used to be the only man in my life...and I'd never see him again. Never hear him laugh, never hear him call me Amy-Jess like he used to when I was little. My children would never know him, never meet their granddad. And to him I was dead. It hits me like that sometimes, every now and then, like a cloud passing over the sun.

Can I go with you and Daddy to your fancy dinner tonight?

You wouldn't have any fun with us. You're going to be with Aunt Sunny and you know what, I think you and she should put on a fashion show. You can even use some of my makeup and all those dress-up clothes your sister brought and left in that trunk upstairs.

Her eyes brightened at the prospect and dinner with us was suddenly forgotten.

We'll take pictures so you can see when you get home tomorrow!

I should hope you would. I said lifting her down from the lid. Remember though, darling, how we make sure not to say Melody is your sister to people outside of the house? She's just family, right?

Right! She agreed with the gusto only a small child can muster. Mommy?

Yes, baby?

Why can't I tell people Melody is my sister?

Because...That's something your Daddy and I will explain to you when you get older.

As old as you?

I burst out laughing and then attacked her with tickles.

Oh no! Not nearly that old!

Rory came to the bathroom door just then and knocked on the frame.

Are we almost ready? He asked cheerfully before adding. Amy, you look magnificent.

I flushed at the compliment. He could still do that to me.

What about me? Vickie pipped up.

You look gorgeous as well. Then he frowned paternally. Are you wearing lipstick?

Mommy let me try some.

Well, alright, but just in the house. I'm not ready to have you start growing up so quickly.

Mooooom! Daaaad! Our son yelled from the other room. Reggie's mom is here, I'm gonna go, 'kay?

A kiss goodbye would be appreciated. I shouted back. I wasn't eager to let him grow up so darn fast either.

I heard Anthony's irritated preteen sigh as he tromped into the bathroom where we'd all congregated. I bent down and he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

Bye, Mom.

Bye, honey.

Excited about your camp out? Rory asked.

Yes, Dad.

You've got your sleeping bag?

Yes, Dad.

Snacks?

Yes, Dad.

Torch?

He rolled his eyes.

It's a  _flash_ light, Dad.

Klugscheißer. Rory said giving his nose an affectionate tweak.

Daddy said smart ass. Vickie said with a giggle.

Have you been teaching her German? I asked with surprise.

She wanted to learn. Anthony shrugged.

And you're only sticking to the essential swear words, I see. Rory replied. Go on, get out of here and have a good time.

Bye, Dad, Vick, and hey, Mom?

Yeah?

You look real pretty. He said before hurrying away and out of the front door with a slam like the admission embarrassed him.

That indeed you do. Rory agreed and I was glad he approved.

Overall, I don't seem to be holding up too badly, Doctor. I never imagined myself in my 40's and certainly or 50's, but the truth is, I don't feel all that different. I'm still Amy. I can still do what I want, when I want with minimal protest from my body. I may have a few more lines about my eyes than I'd like but more of them are from laughing than crying or frowning.

Rory had Vickie in his arms and we all three left the bathroom. I think we made a pretty dapper couple, I in my satin princess dress and Borgana wrap, Rory in his wool sports coat and trousers. He opted for contacts and I could have worn mine but I was sort of dying to wear the cats eye prescription glasses Melody had brought me.

Rory put on the phonograph and as Vickie seemed to be all full of jitterbugs and excitement tonight he twirled her around the room to Whatever Lola Wants from Damn Yankees. She giggled and held on as he tango-ed her all about. We'd missed this with Melody but we weren't ever going to miss it with Vickie. Sunny arrived not too long after, her boys were on their way to being grown up and didn't quite need her mothering so much anymore. She was happy to spread it around to our kids.

Sorry, Sunny, either I wore her out or just revved her up for you! Rory said apologetically.

I don't mind one bit! Sunny said with a wide grin. We're going to have a marvelous time, aren't we?

Yep! Vickie answered.

There's plenty of food about. I said. Make yourself comfortable, I've made up the guest room for you and just have a good time. Here's the number to the restaurant and the hotel if you need us.

I remember when we'd first brought Vickie home. Sunny had been a bit...surprised. She hadn't said anything bad but she just didn't quite know what to do. And she certainly didn't know what we were doing. But I knew I'd chosen my friend wisely and it wasn't long at all until it didn't really seem to matter what colour Vickie was. She was ours and I would never make apologies for her and Sunny didn't ask for any. Not too long afterwards she began begging us to let her babysit.

With instructions given, kisses received and promises to be good and not exhaust poor Sunny extracted, I grabbed my wool clutch coat, Rory put on his hat and we were off.

Reservations were at the Biltmore. It always had to be the Biltmore.

Coffee was first. We stopped at the cafe and had cappuccino and biscuits. Then dinner in the ballroom where Rory danced me off my feet. Then dessert. Then upstairs to our suite. A toast over strawberries and champagne and then...festivities.

You're probably wondering what all this is about, Doctor. What anniversary are we celebrating?

Well, we're celebrating the day we arrived here.

Yeah,  _that_  day.

When we first got here and finally found each other, it was, as I've mentioned before, in the middle of the 1938 hurricane. Rory and I finally met at around 149th street in Upper Manhattan. The water was up to our thighs, coursing around us, thick with trash and leaves, branches and debris. Just moving about was hard and I had to hold tight to him to keep my balance. It didn't take long for the rain and wind to start up again. There were scores of people in the street some headed in our direction others brushing past us. Rory was so good, so encouraging and I don't know what I would have done without him. Honestly...I think I might have given up.

We're alright, Amy. I swear it, we're going to be ok. We just need to keep moving.

So we did. We kept moving. But this was after both of us spent the previous night alone and afraid and the night before that doing battle with the Angels. We were so very tired. At some point I must have stumbled. I came down hard on God knows what and twisted my ankle. The pain shot through me and I was going to fall but Rory caught me and hoisted me up into his arms. I told him to put me down, I could manage but he just looked at me and smiled.

I've got you, baby. I've always got you.

He carried me for what seemed like blocks. As we approached some of the more commercial areas of town we noticed the looters. They had weapons and bats and they were moving at a pretty steady rate despite the storm. Rory stopped and I could see him analyzing the situation trying to gauge their desperation and how much danger we might be in.

You there! Young fella?

Rory turned us both and looked toward the voice. What we saw was a man, paddling by, quite calmly in a boat.

Uh...yeah?

Is your young lady hurt?

Yeah, she twisted her ankle.

Well, come aboard, hurry up now. Water gets deeper out this way so be careful.

We took him up on it and the next thing I knew we were heading down Madison Avenue courtesy of a generous stranger. Rory took up a spare paddle and started to row like an oarsman. I'd never seen him do that before.

There's something about him, then and now that at times seems inexhaustible. Almost as though he still thought of himself as an auton, strong, indestructible. It worried me when he was at war...now, it makes me believe I'll get even more years out of him. God...I hope so.

It doesn't sound like you folks are from around these parts.

No... Rory said. We're pretty new in town.

I figured by your accent and your... He glanced at me before finishing. ... _clothes_.

Yeah, we picked a hell of a time to visit, huh?

The farther we went the higher the water rose until it was nearing the roofs of parked buses.

I'd never seen anything like it, Doctor, and for a moment I actually forgot about everything else. I forgot this wasn't just another adventure with you.

Rory pointed a finger at a truly odd sight.

Are those bedsheets? He asked incredulously as he shielded his eyes from the rain.

Hanging from open windows of a tall, tall building, long, knotted bed sheets draped down into the water.

Looks like it. I said, having to practically yell it to be heard over the storm. I was about to add something else, some speculation as to what they could be for when we saw one in action. The flow was more active here, swirling, rushing. A man went careening through the dark water, seeming out of control, people peered out of the windows shouting to him, encouraging him and as he was nearly swept away at the last minute he grabbed hold of one of the sheets. Rory, the Boat-Guy and I gasped. It was such a heart pounding moment. He was slowly pulled up about three floors above the water and then yanked through a window. The sheet was then lowered back down for the next unlucky-lucky person.

That was one of the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Rory said. And I've seen some fairly amazing things.

Rory, maybe we should stop here. I suggested.

I agree. It's as good a place as any.

Ok, folks, I'll row you over.

The gentleman...it occurs to me now, we never got his name or gave him ours paddled us over to the Biltmore hotel. Rory helped me out, we thanked the man who rowed serenely away and turned to be greeted by who I could only assume was the concierge.

Sir, Miss, welcome to the Biltmore. Would you care for a towel?

Yes, please. I said. I was shivering and cold and we took the towels eagerly.

Might I interest you in something to eat?

Just the mention of food made my stomach rumble though the question seemed a bit surreal considering.

Whatever you've got. Peanut butter and jelly would do us alright. Rory said.

We don't have anything like that, sir. But the electricity has been out for awhile and we've had the fires going almost constantly to make sure the food is eaten as opposed to going spoiled. I believe we have some balsamic glazed salmon with rice pilaf. Would that be agreeable, sir?

This was a bit better than either of us had expected and we both sort of just nodded, wide eyed.

Very good. And perhaps...some  _clothes_ for the lady?

I glanced down at myself. My skinny capris must have looked incredibly scandalous considering how two people felt the need to comment. We agreed to everything, the meal, a new, slightly ill-fitting dress for me and a half hour later we were seated, along with countless other people in the 4th floor ballroom. We ate. A waiter brought me a napkin full of ice which eased the throbbing in my ankle. After a while we were given a room key and happily, tiredly plodded up the stairs to room 1111.

Once inside I stripped out of the dress and flopped onto the bed and Rory joined me wearily.

I think it was at that moment that it occurred to me, besides our greeting, we hadn't really spoken. Now, as those adrenaline spikes were wearing off and settling into flatlines we were left with reality, crowding around us, filling our ears, drowning everything else out, like the hurricane.

Rory?

Yeah? He said and immediately reached for my hand, locking our fingers.

Do you know what year it is?

1938\. I'd already guessed by the cars and the clothes, but I saw a newspaper swirl by when we were in the boat.

1938\. I repeated it after him. Disbelieving. Hoping somehow it was a mistake.

But I knew it wasn't.

We need to think about our next move. He said with that Rory-Confidence I'd come to depend on. But we can't do it now. We have to rest. Our brains are fried.

I don't think I could sleep...not after...

You have to try, Amy. I know a thing or two about waking up and beginning a new life and it takes a rested body and a clear head.

He pulled me into his arms, his embrace tightening around me.

You feel this? He asked. This is real. This is me. This is us. Here and together. We found each other and we are going to be ok.

I think what surprised me at the time is that he already knew. He didn't add your name onto the end. He didn't say we have to sit tight until the Doctor can think of a way to get us out of this. He knew we were on our own.

I did fall asleep but it was uneasy and nightmare riddled and I woke up with a start. The room was dark, though at some point Rory had gotten up to light some candles. When I glanced over he was sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from me, his shoulders hunched. I sat up, reached out and ran my hand down his back. He didn't flinch or jump but he turned quickly to look at me, his eyes red rimmed.

Hey.

Hey, you. He replied.

You ok?

He nodded and came back to rest on the bed next to me.

You? he asked.

Of course. I smiled as I told the lie.

I don't think we slept anymore that night, Doctor. We didn't talk either. The world seemed heavy and wet, the air thick. Every move was laborious, every breath almost seemed like too much effort to bother to draw in. Thinking back on it now it occurs to me that maybe we were in shock. In any case we didn't talk much the next day either. It was still cloudy, rainy, stormy and flooded and even more people had made their way to the hotel than were there last night. I put my dress back on and we had another ridiculously ornate breakfast, courtesy of the constantly working kitchen staff. Mostly we just wandered, me limping slightly, room to room, nodding at people, glancing out of the windows, watching people and couches and cars float by. The people were thankfully rescued, the couches and cars, kept careening towards Broadway.

I didn't have my mobile or a watch and all of the clocks had stopped so we didn't really know what time it might be until it started to get dark again. As the rooms and hallways began to dim and the candles were re-lit Rory and I bumped into a young woman.

Oh! Can you please help me?

We were instantly on guard, expecting anything and everything to come from around the corner behind her.

What is it? Rory asked quickly, his eyes narrowing.

It's everything! She said and in an instant her face started to crumple. In that moment I took her in, she was probably no more than 17, she had her hair in lovely loose pincurls and she was wearing a long white dress.

None of our party could make it, all these people showed up at the reception venue and ate all our food and drank the champagne...not that I blame them considering but...

The young woman started to cry and I put my arm around her. She seemed relieved by the comfort.

I've asked  _everyone_  but they're all so grumpy and upset and... _old_. She whispered the last part and I smiled.

What is it you need? Rory asked her, his voice calm and soft.

Please, would you both witness? We can't do it without real witnesses because it wouldn't be legal and if it's not legal we can't... She paused, flustered. Well we can't do anything!

Rory and I glanced at each other, both wearing an; Is that all? face.

Your wedding? I asked.

She nodded.

Of course we will. I assured her. Tell you what, lets head off to the loo and we'll do something really quick with your hair and set your makeup right and then you'll be ready to get married.

I grinned at her and with a wobbly chin she smiled back.

You're awfully nice. You can't imagine what a day this has been. Just one comedy of errors after another.

Actually...I can imagine. Wedding days can be... odd.

Oh! The absolute queerest! Would you believe he was stuck at Union Station for hours? We came here by National Guard! They had bayonets and everything.

We got into the bathroom and I helped her smooth down her hair and touch up her makeup.

Is that your fella?

Yeah. I said with a smile. Well, husband actually.

She turned to me with interest.

You're married? What's it like?

I laughed. Somehow she seemed even younger than before.

Um...that's a longer conversation that I think we can have in the Ladies, moments before your ceremony.

Are you happy?

I thought for a moment. Such a complicated answer were it to refer to anything else. Such an easy answer when the subject was Rory.

Yeah, I am really, really happy.

She beamed at me and I could see the relief wash over her features.

My name's Lulla. Lulla Prince. Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier.

Amy Pond. And Rory is my husband.

I'm marrying Steven. First second I saw him I thought, he's crackerjack! He's the one. You know what I mean?

I know what you mean.

This isn't the way I pictured it, though. She said with a sigh. But that's the breaks, right? So long as I got Steven and Steven's got me, what else matters? We'll get by. And no dumb, moldy, waterlogged hotel or crazy storm blowing from here to Timbuktu is gonna break us. We were made to last.

I grinned at her, this experience somehow doing me good.

Well, then lets get you out there, shall we?

Thanks, Amy. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug which I returned. As she pulled from the embrace she gave me a kiss on the cheek. Not a few minutes later Rory and I were standing in a darkened room with only candlelight illuminating the ceremony watching Lulla and Steve become man and wife. Happy, eager and ready to start their brand new life together. Fearful and fearless.

Rory and I signed our names to the form and it was, I suppose the first real mark we made in that decade. It made it all too, too real.

I caught the bouquet, of course. And as we parted with a few more hugs, kisses and expressions of thanks, I thought back to our wedding. Standing there at the altar, promising to pledge my life to Rory, all my days. All the days the universe had to give I was going to share them with him. And he promised the same to me. And I realized, no matter our situation, no matter where we were, that hadn't changed. It wouldn't ever change.

Once we were back to our room I grabbed his hand and squeezed it fiercely.

I love you. I said.

I know. I love you too.

I mean it, Rory. I said turning to him. I was that girl once. Scared and excited. Worried about whether or not I was doing the right thing. But everything I said to you the day we got married, everything I promised, everything I felt, I feel it a hundred times stronger today than when I said it then. And I really, really felt it then.

I saw his mouth open and close, he swallowed hard and then I saw his eyes go bright and shiny with tears.

You said that...at exactly the moment I needed to hear it. He replied, his voice cracking. I feel the same, Amy. I feel the exact same way. Sometimes...I worried and wondered was I...am I enough for her and I-

I cut him off with an embrace and a kiss.

You're enough. You're more than enough. You have _always_ been enough.

We held one another and touched for what felt like the first time in ages. Maybe the first time since we'd plunged off the roof. Time had seemed to be moving at a snails pace up until that moment. Now it sped forward, one minute, one movement bleeding into the next. We were kissing, stripping down, falling into bed, naked, touching, thrusting, crying out, connecting, reconnecting and finally, finally,  _finally_ release.

Later on that night in bed I clung tightly to Rory. We'd had frantic, tearful, lusty, life affirming sex and though it had been needed it had left us exhausted.

What was it like...? He asked and I knew what he was referring to. For a few long, long minutes I couldn't answer. There in the dark I imagine Rory thought I didn't want to talk about it. Not just yet and he gave me a reassuring squeeze. I  _didn't_  want to talk about it. Not then. Maybe not ever. But I was worried that if I kept it quiet and sealed up, it would just become this door I never opened. And behind that door wouldn't just be our last moment together it would be everything that had come before. Every happy time, every adventure, every quiet moment and smile. Everything that made us The Ponds and the Doctor in the TARDIS, like we should be, like we always should have been.

It was hard getting the words out at first but what I'd lose, possibly forever, if I didn't speak in that moment would have been far harder.

I...I didn't understand at first. You were just...gone. There one moment and then all of a sudden it was like the sum of my nightmares had come true. I screamed for the Doctor. He and Melody came running out.

There were only two beings who could control how this went. The Angel and the Doctor. I begged him to take us back. To just go get you, to find you. I still couldn't get over the notion that you weren't there. How could you not be there? I didn't understand how I was still standing without you. I didn't understand how I was still breathing when my heart was outside of my body, scattered anywhere in space and time.

He said it would cause another paradox. It would tear New York...maybe even time, apart.

I clutched at him harder in the dark of the hotel room. But that didn't satisfy me. I needed to see him, to know this was real and I reached across his body and grabbed one of the candles on the nightstand. I watched Rory as he blinked once, twice against the soft, single light. His face was lined with worry as he listened to me tell the tale. Satisfied, I leaned back down onto his chest and continued.

I saw your gravestone. I saw it, with you name and your- I saw it and he said he was sorry, in that way he has. That way that lets you know there's no way out and it's breaking his heart to tell you that but it's true. It's all terribly true.

I didn't want to believe him but Melody confirmed it. So I looked back to your grave. That big, cold stone. Big and empty with so much space. And I realized, things weren't as dark as they seemed.

How? Rory asked, his voice soft and small.

I realized you'd left a space for me, just like you always did and always have. You left room for me. You knew I'd be along. I told them the stone has room for one more name.

I heard Rory inhale sharply as I spoke but he didn't interrupt me.

I knew the Angel would send me back to the same time. I knew it. Logically I knew and plus...who had ever willingly sacrificed themselves before? Maybe...maybe there would be some mercy for that gesture. The Doctor told me no one could know but it was Melody who overruled him. She knew it was the only way. The Doctor's face, I could hardly look at his face...and it  _would_  have broken my heart...but my heart was with you. I entrusted him to Melody, I told her to look after him and be a good girl. I turned my back and I looked at him. I looked at him one last time and he was so...so hurt and sad and bewildered. But I couldn't stay. I couldn't stay. I told him, Raggedy Man, goodbye...and then I was here. You see, I was wrong, there weren't just two beings in charge. There was a third one. Me.

Rory sniffled and held me even tighter.

He called me Amelia. He said, Please...my Amelia. He always called me Amelia when he was worried about me.

I'm going to miss him.

Me too.

I can't quite wrap my head around the idea that we...we won't...

Me neither. But here's what I do know. When the waters recede, when the sun comes out, we're going to walk out of here and we're going to start a new life and we're going to be ok. Do you know why?

Why? he asked and I could hear the smile in his voice.

Because we were made to last.

I blew out the candle then and we went to bed. And that time we both actually slept.

The next day the concierge tracked us down with a rather bewildered look on his face.

Mr. and Mrs. Williams. We have a package for you. I'm not sure when it arrived but we saw it floating around the front desk. It appears to have been packaged quite well. No leakage as far as we can tell.

Of course it was from Melody. Her letter said we were easy to find because our signatures turned up on this very old marriage certificate. In it we found identification, social security cards, the address to the flat, money, a history, all the seeds of a new life. And of course a promise from her to visit us as soon as she could.

That's it. That's the story of how we got here and what happened after we blinked from your life and into this one. I'm sure you have your own story to tell. I wish I could hear it.

All that was 17 years ago.

Things are so different now. Today was a happy day. And hours after we left home I stood in my slip in front of the mirror again in the bathroom of our suite, taking off my makeup.

Every time we come here I notice the watermark at the front entrance. Rory said from the bedroom. I could hear him taking off his shoes, one thumped to the ground and then the other. 12 feet. 12 feet of water. You've noticed the plaque haven't you?

I saw my reflection smile as I took out my earrings. You point it out to me every year, baby.

He chuckled and got off the bed. When I glanced to my side he was leaning against the door frame smiling at me softly. Are you saying I'm repeating myself like an old man?

I don't see any old men here.

I felt his eyes roam my body and I enjoyed the attention watching him through the mirror.

Look at you. How did I get so lucky? He asked.

Born under a fortunate star, I suppose. Same as me.

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms about my waist.

Gorgeous, brilliant Amy Pond.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the solidness of his frame.

We made it. I said. We keep on making it.

That's because we were made to last.

Mmm... I sighed as his lips grazed my neck. Did you send it?

Of course, a few days back.

Long ago we'd tracked down Lulla and Steven Thorn and made certain to send them an anniversary gift each year. They helped us more than they'll ever know. They snapped us out of our shock. They helped our daughter find us. They helped us start moving on.

Amy? He breathed against my skin his hands running down my body before fanning out across my hips.

Hmm?

Let me take you to bed.

This is usually the point where we fade to black, isn't it Doctor. The camera pans off to the fluttering of curtains and we pick up after Rory and I are done. But what if, this time we didn't?

Fancy the details?

Come on, you're alone, all by yourself in the TARDIS, I'm sure Clara has gone to bed. I'll make it easy for you. If you'd like to skip the lurid details you can just skim until you reach the word Petrichor and then continue on reading.

I turned in Rory's arms and he lifted me, his hands under my thighs as I wrapped my legs around him. We kissed deeply and he slipped his tongue in my mouth, teasing, pulling back every now and then to nip at my lips. Carrying me out of the bathroom and straight to the bed he laid he down gently. We made eye contact, both of us happy and grinning before kissing again. He started to work his way down my body gradually, his hands skating over the silk of my slip before reaching the hem and then creeping back upwards. His palms found my breasts and hardened nipples, squeezing, kneading gently as he kissed across the expanse of my stomach. I wanted him everywhere, covering, touching, kissing every inch of me and I let him know it, happily pleading for more. He moved lower and my knickers were inched from my hips, past my knees and then to the floor. His tongue found me and I realized I'd missed its expertise. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging as my breathing came faster and faster until finally he brought me to that wonderful edge and I went plunging off. As I settled, his name still on my lips he kissed my inner thighs. Rory moved away from me reluctantly, but only long enough to disrobe and soon enough his clothes and my slip joined my knickers on the floor. Then we were beneath the covers and he was over me, as patient and eager as our first time together.

I love you, so much.

I can't remember who said it first but the other echoed it immediately.

And then he was inside me, a hard, perfect fit and my toes curled like they did when we were eighteen, going at it like mad in my bedroom or his, trying our best to keep quiet lest our parents heard us. In a way, we'd gone back to that at home. With two small-ish children, sex had become a lot of hushed moans, shushings, apologetic giggling and muffled orgasms swallowed by pillows or bites to shoulders. But tonight we had free reign, the way it was in the 2000's, the way it was in the '40's and we could be as loud as we wanted. I moaned his name. He whispered mine, low and breathy in my ear. My hand dropped to his arse, spurring his own. His hand dropped beneath my thigh, tilting my hips towards him before slipping his fingers between my legs. He slowed as we neared the end, prolonging the moment, extending it the way he knew I loved. When we did come, it was with his lips pressed to mine and it was wonderful.

Petrichor.

Happy anniversary, Amy.

Happy anniversary, Rory.

We'll stay here the night, Doctor and go back to our normal lives tomorrow. Rory has patients to see. I've got books to write and we both have children to care for. But for now, we just needed a moment to reminisce, to remember that fear and loneliness we felt but also remember how we overcame it.

I wasn't trying to be salacious with this, Doctor, I swear. But...you just seemed so sad, when you came to visit us. Sad and guilty and Rory and I wanted you to know that we celebrate this day, we don't mourn it. It doesn't mean we don't miss you though.

You told me, a long time ago, life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always make the bad things any easier. But the bad things...well, you can't let them touch the good things. I'm paraphrasing but not everyone has an eidetic memory like you. It wasn't easy, and despite this initial buoyancy, there were months afterwards where I sank like a stone. Accepting the loss of you and the loss of our lives in the future was like coming to terms with a death. I thought we had pole vaulted over all those steps, denial, bargaining, anger, depression as we left the Biltmore for the first time, but we hadn't. They were there waiting for us. But also waiting was the realization that nothing had truly died. The world had just shifted a bit. The point is, we're good. We're ok. And we come back here sometimes, to where it started, to remember just that.

So, Raggedy Man, Doctor,  _my_ Doctor, you know I call you my Doctor when I'm worried about you, now you can't come up with some crazy reason not to visit us. Now, once and for all you have to bundle up all that guilt and toss it out the TARDIS doors. Let it burn in infinity.

This isn't the anniversary of the day the Ponds died, my love.

This is the anniversary of the day they lived.

Endless love across endless stars, Doctor.

Your living, breathing, loving, thriving, happy, healthy, Amy and Rory

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so there are quite a few things going on here. I wanted some Mommy/Daughter time with Amy and Vickie. (And by the way I might go back and change the spelling of her name to Vicky because then every Pond's name would end with a Y.) I wanted to mention Sunny was still alive and kicking because I hadn't brought her up in awhile. I wanted to give Amy and Rory some couples time. It's not all work and worry and battling aliens, sometimes it's a night out on the town. I wanted to delve into how Amy too had noticed how sad the Doctor was when he popped back into their memory. I wanted to delve back into what happened that day they arrived in Manhattan, the shock of it all, the stress and pain and finally, the first few rays of understanding and acceptance. I did a bit of research on the hurricane and people were indeed rowing down the street in boats, bedsheets were hung from the windows of the Biltmore to save those in danger of being swept away, and I did read a story about a married couple who had to be escorted by the National Guard to their waterlogged ceremony. Also, I saw a few posts on Tumblr that note on September 29th it had been 2 years since the Pond's left us and I wanted to do something to commemorate that. I had intended to get this out earlier but I didn't know it would be 6000+ words. And yes, I wanted to add some sexytimes because Amy and Rory are still hot in their early 50's. Yes, that's right, I did the math wrong. Amy and Rory were 34 when they were sent back to 1938 which would not make them 48 now. It would make them 51. I have to back and edit a chapter here and there.


	175. December 31, 1959

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

31 of December 1959

Dear Dad...and for that matter, Dear Amy,

I promised you both, directly and indirectly that I would tell you about something,  _someone_  I never mention.

My son whose name was Vitus.

It's New Years Eve and I figured perhaps it would be good to start 1960 with a fresh slate.

When I was on the outskirts of Rome, through rather odd circumstances I came to adopt a little boy and raise him as my own.

I never really thought of myself as a storyteller, Amy, that's much more your gift than mine. But I realized when he was still very, very young that I did have stories to tell. In the early morning hours, as the TARDIS-sun was just starting to rise, my little boy and I would go out into the fields. In those early days before his tiny hands had any skills for labor I would work the plow and he would walk alongside me.

Tell me about them! He'd demand.

About who? I'd ask. I was teasing him. It was fun for both of this to just savor these moments.

Papa, you know who!

Oh! Oh do you mean the dinosaurs?

Yes! He'd say and jump up at down.

Well, let us see. I must ask you to use your imagination. Can you do that?

He'd nod eagerly and I'd begin.

You recall our morning lizard?

Every morning this tiny lizard, a gray little thing, smaller than one of my fingers would climb upon our window sill. We usually started our days with bread, fresh honey, a piece of fruit and goats milk. Vitus would offer the little creature a few crumbs and he would descend on it rapidly and that's how the three of us would spend our mornings.

Of course, Papa.

Now imagine him as tall as you.

And then my son would grin as I'd continue.

Now imagine him as tall as me.

And then he would beam.

Now, imagine him as tall as that! I'd say, pointing to the Italian stone pine that grew on our property. It was young and half it's full height at somewhere around 12 meters high. It was generally at that point that he'd squeal with delight and crane his head back to stare upwards as his mind tried to wrap itself around that.

What would he eat?

I'd put down my plow for a moment, grab him, pick him up and spin him about with a playful growl.

Well, he'd try to eat you! But I'd never let him. The Tyrannosaurus Rex, the Tyrant Lizard like all carnivores craved meat and he had big, sharp teeth. And when he roared, my son, why, you would be able to hear him from here into the city proper.

I watched as my boys little jaw dropped open, as his imagination took over transporting him back in time. Finally, with a contented smile he said, I like your stories about dinosaurs.

But they're not just stories, you know.

Pa _pa_. He said with a little shake of his head, the disbelief in his voice evident.

You think I tell a lie? These creatures existed billions of years ago. And shall I tell you something else? I said, dropping to my knees to whisper to him conspiratorially.

What?

We're probably walking atop their bones right now.

He gasped and looked down excitedly towards his feet.

Might we dig one up someday, Papa?

I remember laughing then and going back to my plow as he followed after me excitedly. He kept saying. I can get my spade.

My son had blonde hair, nearly white when he was 4 and 5 but it darkened later. When the breeze blew around us it made the wheat wave and sway and it lifted his curls and everything around me sparkled in TARDIS light like white gold. I was Papa and he was my little boy

_***Curator's note. This letter was ended on this page at this point and subsequently taken up on a new piece of paper in different ink. The museum declines to speculate on the smudges and water stains surrounding the final words and whether or not they resemble tears. Now, we resume.*** _

Let's see, what else can I tell you? He was smart, so very smart. He liked music and he played the  _askules_. Amy you would have enjoyed that, it was like a bagpipe. I taught him to play the  _tibia_ , which was a long, double reeded pipe. He begged me to teach him to fight and though the last thing I wanted was for him to go to war I taught him swordplay. I fashioned two  _rudis_ , small wooden swords for us both and passed onto him what I knew.

There's so much I could tell you, so many happy days to choose from. But I suppose I'll pick one of the happiest.

I had known for awhile that he was interested Cordelia, he had been making any excuse to visit the city and spend time with her. I knew it was serious when he began staying out later and later to just walk and talk with her. And finally when he introduced her to me as his  _amica_ I could imagine what might come next. He was just a boy, that's what my mind and heart were telling me. But when when he approached me some weeks later and told me he was planning to propose he did so with the quiet confidence of a man.

Do you like her, Papa?

I think she is a fine young woman.

And a good match?

An excellent match.

Do you think she'll say yes? Will her father say yes?

Maletus will leap for joy. Trust me, he will be overjoyed to join our houses. I said. Though Vitus and I lived a rather simple country life there was no secret that I was wealthy by the standards of those days. An old decorated soldier, even a senator if I so chose. Cordelia's father would be ecstatic over such a union.

But-

Yes, Vitus. I believe she will say yes. And I think I have something that might help. I stood and went to my bedroom to retrieve something I had kept hidden for ages. And when I came back, I told him a story. The same story I'm about to tell you.

In the winter of 172 AD my lord and Caesar Marcus Aurelius gifted me with a ring. I had served under Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, I even had memories that went back as far as Nerva but I knew they were inauthentic. In any case Caesar knew me or rather knew my family to be trustworthy and faithful servants of Rome.

For your service, Ruaidhri, for your devotion, for your medical ministrations and for keeping an old man company. I had two of these commissioned. Its mate was lost. But this one was for my dear little daughter but she... Well, let it be worn by the living and not entombed with the dead. Take this, and when you marry and my dear boy, by the gods leave this life and  _marry_ , give this to your wife.

He was a good man and for all his failings perhaps one of the best leaders I ever served under. When he died of smallpox I wept and accompanied his ashes from Vindobona back to Rome.

Don't speak of such things. This ring is for another day and time. Commodus should-

Commodus is a fool and I am dying and I give it to you.

I chastened him for even speaking of dying but I knew he was nearing his end.

He handed me the ring, a beautiful sapphire, clear and radiant and the deepest of deep blue.

And now, I handed it to Vitus.

This is for you, son, when you propose to her, if you'd like, you may give her this ring as a sign of your promise.

Vitus stared at the ring in my palm, wide eyed, looking as if he were afraid to touch it.

This...this is from  _Caesar_?

It is indeed. From Caesar to me to you. If you want it, little one.

You haven't called me little one in ages.

I know.

It's beautiful. I think it will just fit her finger. But...Ceasar said you should marry and give it to your wife. Why did you not?

I thought back then to the tiny diamond, the best I could afford at the time, that I gave to you, Amy.

I wed her with another ring. I said simply

Papa-

He pressed but I cut him off. I never wanted to burden him with things he didn't understand and other things that would become far too clear as time passed.

It's yours now. Take it with my blessing and my consent.

And he did take it and Maletus consented as well and 'Lia was overjoyed.

On their wedding day I proudly watched as my son and my new daughter said their vows. 'Lia came from a religious family and while I had never passed on those things to Vitus he participated for her.

There was no veil but rather a belt about the waist of her long white dress, a Knot of Hercules, it was called which Vitus would untie only when they were alone that night.

God, I can remember it all as though it were yesterday. I watched as they performed the  _dextrarum iunctio_ and I teared up as she chanted their vows.

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.

When-and where-you are Gaius, I then-and there-am Gaia

When-and where-you are Gaius, I then-and there-am Gaia

When-and where-you are Gaius, I then-and there-am Gaia

I watched as my little boy, now a man and his new wife made an offering of  _libum_ cake to Jupiter to bless their marriage. From there we proceeded to dinner, the first real lavish affair I had ever had a part in. I shared the expenses with Maletus, at his insistence and everyone from far and near, strangers and friends alike, was welcome.

At some point amid the music and merrymaking I slipped away, wanting a bit of time to reflect. I had never intended to get this involved. I never wanted this. As I write those words now and see them on the page I realize just how much I sound like someone else I know so, so well. I didn't want it and yet my heart was more full of joy and gratitude than it had been in years. I felt every bit the proud father. I hope I made you feel like that at least once, Dad.

I slipped away to the barn, probably wanting to be close to you, Amy. We hadn't had our wedding day yet and a celebration wasn't a celebration without you. I didn't realize my son had followed me.

Father...? He called to me just as my hand touched the familiar skin of the Pandorica. I turned slowly to look at him with a smile.

Yes, little one?

I am not disturbing you am I? I saw you leave the reception and wanted to make sure you were well.

I'm well. I'm very, very happy. Are you happy?

For a moment the worried look that clouded his features vanished.

Oh yes. This is more than I could have ever dared dream. Thank you for all of this, Father, all of it.

You're welcome, always welcome. But you're missing your party.

I...wanted to ask something of you?

I remember him faltering and gazing down at his hands. He was dressed so nicely, so handsome and strong...and so, so young it made my heart ache.

Yes, son?

Tonight...what should I...do?

Oh. Well, we spoke of that when you were twelve-

I remember.

And I would be happy to go over anything again.

He smiled, clearly relieved.

What will she expect? What will she want me to do?

She will expect you to patient, loving, kind, in short she will expect you to be  _you_.

Putting my arm about his shoulders I walked him to a nearby bale of hay and we sat down.

But, perhaps I'll be too..perhaps it won't..?

Nervous? I imagine you will be, quite nervous. If you said you weren't nervous it would concern me that you were lying. Worse yet it would concern me you were telling the truth. Vitus, you're nervous because you love 'Lia. What you forget is how much she loves you. You won't be alone, you will not need to figure these things out by yourself. She will be there. You will learn together. And trust me if you have some fear that  _it_  won't work when it is most needed, let me assure you, it will. I concluded with a smile.

How old were you?

I waited a bit longer than most of my age. I had seen eighteen summers.

Why?

Because one waits for perfection. And in the end it blesses you for the waiting.

Were you nervous?

Frightfully. She was everything I had ever wanted. But suddenly, when faced with her, I was afraid. Not because I feared she wouldn't live up to my fantasy but because I would have rather cut off my hand than disappoint her.

Vitus nodded emphatically like he knew what I meant.

But, in the end, it all worked out marvelously. In the end it must.

I've never heard you speak so. What became of her?

I sighed deeply before giving him a smile.

Surely you don't wish to while away your wedding day listening to your father tell tales.

He didn't say anything but for a brief moment I noted him glance toward the Pandorica.

I suppose... He said trailing off.

Pardon the interruption. A soft voice broke through. We looked up to see Cordelia, radiant and I watched my son beam at her in return.

You could never interrupt, 'Lia. A thousand pardons for taking your husband from you on this blessed day. I grinned at Vitus who looked at both of us shyly. I'll leave you to one another. I said rising.

Papa, wait. She said and it gladdened my heart to hear how easily she had taken to calling me that. I paused. Did you ask him? She said in a soft voice to Vitus.

I hadn't broached it just yet.

Broached what? I asked.

'Lia came to stand before me, her tiny frame ramrod straight.

Papa, we were hoping...Well, we know that traditionally we might move to the city but, could we not perhaps build our home here? On the farm?

At that point you could have knocked me over with a feather. I had been coming to terms with the fact that after so many years of having his love, his laughter and his light around me, I was losing my son. The circumstances could not have been better but still, I thought I was losing him.

I was hesitant to ask, Pater. I thought, maybe you were looking forward to shooing me out of the house.

I was speechless and all I could think to do was grab them and hold them close.

I would be overjoyed to have you both here.

They held me tighter and we three stood like that in the barn just embracing. It was a perfect moment.

That night I left just after 'Lia's attendants carried her over the threshold. She had been given a torch from the hearth of her old home to light the hearth of her new one. She lit the fireplace, extinguished the torch and threw it to her guests who scrambled to grab it as we would for a bouquet or a garter. Once inside she took both of Vitus' hands and again recited the words of consent.

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

To which he replied,

Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius

And then they closed the door. The party dispersed and I joined with the crowds headed back to the city proper. I rented a room for a week for a few denarii and let my son and daughter in law enjoy their first days as a married couple. When I returned it was to a son who was a great deal more confident in himself and his abilities than the one I left. I also returned to a daughter-in-law who was pregnant with my first grandchild though none of us knew it yet.

Vitus and I set to work building his new house on our property and they were well settled by the time little Coryn was born.

I'm not sure what else to say. I've included the letter I wrote to the Doctor 1945. But all of this is only a scintilla of my life with my son. But I needed you both to know about him. To know he existed. To know that in some other universe he lived and loved and that I loved him. I don't want to keep him as some sort of secret anymore. Amy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner but I haven't even been able to speak his name aloud. But he's been on my mind so much lately probably because of Anthony. Because he's nearing the age Vitus was when he wed. And because sometimes I imagine them, all of them, Vitus, Adora, Anthony, Vicky and Melody all growing up together, here with us.

I'm not ashamed of my life or my choices or my son and I would hate for my pain at losing him and my family to make it appear that I was.

That's all. I just needed both of you to know.

His name was Vitus Ruaidhri filis Cicurinus

He was a good boy and a better man.

And I remember him.


	176. December 31, 1959 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

31st of January, 1959

Dear Doctor,

I feel so foolish. I had no idea. Everything he was holding inside. He used to get so tight, so drawn in upon himself when I'd ask. I didn't think he'd ever tell me. But today I came out of the shower to find this note on our bed and I panicked a little. Of course Rory, as if sensing that had used a Post-It from our nearly dwindled supply to scribble; It's not a bad note, Amy, just a letter I had to write. I'm outside in the backyard. Want to come and see me when you're finished?

I read. Both letters, the one he wrote to you and the one to me and Brian. I cried over his words and then dressed quickly. Passing through the living room I spotted Vickie stretched out on the floor.

Mom, everybody looks so fancy! You're not going to miss the ball drop, are you? She asked. She was watching the televised New Years celebration at the Waldorf-Astoria. Her noisemaker was at the ready by her side and she was already wearing her pointy, silvery party hat. I grinned at my 11 year old. It was a big deal for her to be allowed to stay up so late and she wasn't going to waste a moment.

How much butter do you want on your popcorn, Goober? Anthony called from the kitchen.

Lots and stop calling me goober!

Anthony stop-

 _Tony_ , Mom. You know I go by Tony now. Jeez.

Alright,  _Tony_ , stop calling your sister names. I said, not wanting to get into an argument with him now.

Tony, you're missing the orchestra! Vickie called almost frantically.

I don't care about the orchestra, did I miss the ballerina?

You don't like ballet. Vickie said quizzically.

I do when the ballerina is stacked. He said coming out of the kitchen carrying an enormous bowl of popcorn.

Tony, don't say  _stacked_. I said as I left my children to their new years debate and made my way to the backyard. I paused at the patio door. There was Rory, sitting on a deck chair, I could only see his back. I noted he had a glass of wine in his hand and he was gazing up. Opening the door I stepped outside.

Hey, you. I said, walking around the chair and sitting in his lap.

Hey, you. He said with a smile. He looked tired. I hated to see him look tired. Worse still his eyes were red like he'd been crying.

I leaned back against his frame and kissed his lips before rubbing my cheek against his sideburns and hairline. There was more gray than blonde in some places now but it only made him more handsome, more distinguished.

So, what are we looking at?

Just the stars. I went so long without them, so periodically I like to check to make sure they're still here.

I understand. I said and then paused. In the interim he spoke.

Are you cross with me?

Of course not.

It's a pretty big secret to keep. 34 years of marriage and I only now tell you I had a son...an entire family.

I should apologize to you.

He looked at me incredulously.

Why on earth should  _you_  apologize?

Because, I thought I was doing the right thing by not asking you. I thought, maybe you had walled that part of yourself off for good reason. We always tell each other everything so I figured...well, if there was something you weren't telling me then there must be a damn good reason. I'm so sorry, Rory. Saying it aloud it just sounds selfish.

Hey, hey, you weren't being selfish. You were right. I didn't want to talk about it then. I couldn't. After 2000 years give or take it was still too fresh. But...

Does any of this have to do with Anthony?

 _Tony_. He corrected derisively.

I smiled and leaned closer.

Yeah, it's Anthony. He said as he scrubbed his face. That last row we had...

He trailed off and I thought back to the latest argument my husband had had with our son. It had started over his plummeting grades, ranged into this party he wanted to go to which was now off the table and finally escalated in a lot of angry German of which I could only follow about half. It had been happening more and more lately. They'd been clashing and butting heads over the smallest things.

I know. It was bad. But boys fight with their father's don't they? Didn't you fight with Vitus?

I saw him smile as for only the second time he heard me say the name.

We did, yeah. We butted heads and perhaps time has softened the edges of my memories. But I feel like it didn't feel like this. But I'm not comparing them.

I never said you were. I whispered gently.

Maybe I'm telling myself as much as I'm telling you. I remember feeling this  _shredding_ with my own dad around this age. Our relationship was already on shaky ground and then one day...it was like we were staring at each other from across this chasm. Amy, I don't want that to happen with Anthony.

I looked at my husband, Doctor and realized the tears that had reddened his eyes weren't all from or for the past, some of them were from now.

That won't happen, baby. It won't. Things are different, you are not your dad and Anthony isn't you. Our situation is very, very different from what you grew up with. Rory, I love Brian, I did, I  _do_ but he was distant. When you were a boy...you didn't have him. He was lost in grief and he was feeling abandoned and...

I took a deep breath before going on.

He abandoned you.

Rory inhaled sharply as he teared up.

Fuck...this is ridiculous. I'm a grown man, for God sake. And I'm still...crying over...

He trailed off.

Rory, are you holding onto the idea that we'll get everything sorted out in our lifetime? That we'll get over  _all_ of the hurt and  _all_ of the pain? There are things we'll be crying about until we die. We leave this earth with so many things unsolved, so many things unanswered, so many knots untied. The Doctor is well over a thousand and do you think he has anything figured out?

That got a wet chuckle from him.

True.

What I know is this. Our family is strong and you are a hell of a dad, do you hear me, Mr. Pond?

I hear you.

It might be rough for a bit but it's going to work out alright. I promise.

He drew me close and I wrapped my arms around him.

I'm going to hold you to that. He said softly.

Feel free.

Just then we were interrupted by a knock on the glass door. We turned to see Anthony standing there and after a moment he slid the door open.

You guys are gonna miss it.

I took that moment to whisper in Rory's ear, He's right, one day when this phase is all over,  _you're gonna miss this._

He gave me a soft smile and then a pat on the bottom and I rose to my feet. We headed inside and Rory slung an arm around Anthony's shoulder. He protested like any teenager would but he didn't pull away. Rory planted a quick kiss atop his head whispering;

Mein Kleiner.

Well, Doctor, Guy Lombardo won't wait forever and we're all going to watch the ball drop.

Happy New Year, love.

Here's to a new decade for the Ponds.

Let's hope it's a good one.

Love across the stars,

Amy

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm horrible at math. Like truly, honestly horrible. And after this most recent skip ahead I realized I made another error.
> 
> Amy and Rory were married when they were 21.
> 
> They were sent back when they were 34
> 
> Which means they would have already celebrated or been about to celebrate their 13th Wedding Anniversary. Not their 10th as I believe I've been writing.
> 
> So, this is going to call for some chapter tweaks but be aware, as of now, they have been married for 34 years. They have known each other since they were 7 so that's a grand total of 41 years. They have been in Manhattan 22 years and it has been that long since they've seen the Doctor. Anthony was born in early '44 so he is currently 15. Vickie was born in 1948 and is currently 11. Amy and Rory whose birth's have been retconned to 1905 are 54 years old. Melody was conceived when Amy and Rory were 21, probably born when they were 22 which, in a linear sense makes Melody 32 years old. God only knows how old the Doctor is... 
> 
> I think all that is right, though I'm not sure. But, I believe I'm closer than I was.


	177. March 7, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of March 1960

Dear Doctor,

Senator Kennedy has announced his candidacy for President, the Winter Olympics have come and gone. Eisenhower has sent 3500 troops to Vietnam and Amy and I have decided it's time to tell Vickie about us and you. I'm not sure how it's going to go. Vickie is an entirely different kid than Anthony and really I don't know what her reaction will be. I suppose no matter what, once it's over, it'll be a relief. No more secrets, right?

Yeah, I know, I could barely write that with a straight face.

I headed my son off as he was going to school this morning.

Tony, I want you home on time today, understood.

Where's the fire, Pops?

How I loathed when he called me Pops. Almost as much as I hated calling him Tony.

We're telling Vickie tonight, we think it's time.

Telling her...? Oh. Telling her. Yeah...yeah ok. Sure. Cool.

It's been awhile since we walked Anthony down that hall and told him the truth of everything. The first few days, weeks even after he'd been full of questions, usually oddly phrased and asked at the most inopportune times.

Did you wear spacesuits? He asked Amy once in the market.

Did you shoot a ray-gun? That one was to me in the library.

Well, how many planets have you been to? We both got that one in the park one day and you can't imagine the looks we got from some of the other parents.

But after awhile it was like he...forgot.

No, forgot is the wrong word. While Vickie was still little, Melody used the vortex manipulator to pop directly into the house when she pleased. We'd only asked her to at least come round to the front stoop once our little girl was old enough to start questioning it. But Anthony...he always knew. It's like he's put it out of his mind, forcefully removed it. I don't know how I feel about that.

About two years ago he walked in on Amy and I. No, not in that way. I'd just gotten back from Brazil, you remember that Torchwood assignment. Anyways, I was lying on the bathroom floor and Amy was applying this salve to those awful burns and he walked in innocently looking for us. When he saw us like that, those ugly bruises and slashes on my flesh and Amy, tenderly but still, matter-of-factly (as we've grown with these things) tending to me, he just sort of froze, pressed his lips together and went a little white.

I don't know what he heard but assuming we were alone Amy and I were speaking pretty frankly. We'd told the kids I had gone off to a medical conference but I'd come back a bit too tan and frankly a bit too beat up for that to be believed, at least by him. I remember when Amy and the kids had picked me up from the airport he'd frowned before hugging me. He knows. He just doesn't want to know.

He'll still go off with Melody sometimes for a Friday or a weekend but she's told us he doesn't want to go anywhere into the future, just here, just Earth, just now.

Maybe that's normal. What do you think? I gave up on being a good judge of normal long ago. And now look who I'm asking.

You know what a scotoma is, Doctor? Of course you do, you're a doctor. Well, I think maybe it's like that. Maybe he's put all this information into an emotional blind-spot.

Maybe tonight will jar him out of it. But is that what we even want? To jar him?

I don't know...

You think you'll get to a certain age and you'll just know things but that's probably the biggest lie anyone tells you. No matter what age you are or where you go or how you live, you'll still always feel like a 12 year old whose parents have left them alone for the weekend. A little excited but mostly scared, always on the verge of gorging yourself on pizza and cake and wondering when the adults will show up and fix things.

Love you, Doctor.

Love,

Rory

 


	178. March 8, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of March 1960

Dear Doctor,

This evening was another big night in the Pond house and in many ways it couldn't have gone better...or worse. The plan was dinner, then the talk as we had taken to calling it. Dinner went well, even the initial reveal went better than I anticipated but...

Alright, jitterbug. What would you like for dinner? Ladies choice. Rory asked while washing his hand at the sink.

Ravioli! Came the expected reply.

But, you can have just about anything. The pantry and cupboard are subject only to the limits of your imagination. He said with a teasingly over-dramatic air. You can have whatever you want, within reason. But instead you'd rather have a thirty-three cent can of-

Ravioli!

You know, I could actually  _make_ you ravioli. It's not hard.

No, Daddy! Chef Boy-ar-dee

Alright. Chef Boy-ar-dee it is. Amy, fancy a salad to cut the... deliciousness? He asked with a wink.

A salad would be wonderful. I said giving him a kiss.

I didn't get my favorite dinner. Anthony pouted.

You're right, you didn't. Which is why tonight you get your favorite dessert. Or are you tired of my Apple Hats?

His eyes brightened and he grinned. You made those? No, no that's swell!

Ravioli and Apple Hats, won't the Queen be jealous when she hears she wasn't invited. Rory said giving me a playful swat on the bum which made the kids groan.

We opened a few cans of the admittedly yummy glop and dumped it into a pot, Rory quickly made a salad and some rolls and soon enough we were sitting down for dinner...everyone oddly quiet.

How was your sleepover? I asked her hoping it might be a good segue. Both our daughters had recently gone away for a bit.

Her eyes lit up immediately.

Oh it was great! Melody is the best. She's so funny. We had spaghetti and she did my hair really good!

Really  _well_. Rory said.

Really well. And we just talked and talked about all this important stuff.

What kind of stuff? I asked.

She poked at the food on her plate before going on.

Stuff about the kids at school. Why they're so mean sometimes.

I saw Rory bristle, I clenched my fork harder and Anthony let his milk glass hit the table with a thunk.

After a bit of homeschooling we'd eventually, grudgingly sent her to public school. There had been a few strides in integration over the years. Maybe strides was the wrong word. More like baby steps. She was still only one of a handful of non-white children in the school and though she had a few friends it was becoming increasingly difficult. I didn't like to see my eleven year old so sad and Rory and I were nearing the point where we'd need to make a hard decision. Anthony for his part was extremely protective of his little sister and had gotten into more than one scrape on her behalf.

You know, you can always talk to us about that, baby. Your Dad and I are always here to listen and help.

She nodded but didn't say anything.

We tried to keep things normal for the rest of dinner. I asked Rory about work and Anthony about school and when we were halfway through our apple hats I figured it was time to get started.

So, um, Vickie, there's something your Dad and I wanted to talk to you about.

Ok. She said as she licked cinnamon off her fingertips. What is it?

Well, we thought it might be best to start with looking through our old photo album. Rory suggested, trying to sound casual.

We all adjourned to the living room and started flipping through the pages. From there things essentially went the way they had with Anthony. There was the pause. The squint of disbelief. The glance from one parent to the other and that was when we started to talk and explain as best we could. Next was the trip to the forbidden room as the kids had taken to calling it. But while it had shocked Anthony into a sort of stunned silence, Vickie was energized.

What's this?

That's a mobile.

A mobile what? Like for a baby?

No, jitterbug, a mobile phone. A portable phone.

But it doesn't have a cord.

It doesn't need one.

What's this?

That's a laptop.

A  _lap_  top. She repeated.

It's a computer. I supplied.

But we saw a picture of a computer in school and it was as long as Daddy's car.

They manage to pare them down as time goes on. He said with a smile.

What's this? And this time it wasn't Vickie who asked it was Anthony.

That's an iPad umm, is that the 6th Gen, Amy?

Yeah, we were going to pick up the 7 when we got back from New York but...oops.

But what  _is_  it? Anthony insisted picking it up and examining the smooth, dark screen.

It's also a computer.

Why did you need so many computers? He asked seriously. What were you computing?

I...that's a very good question. I think we were just younger and we wanted them. We just wanted stuff. Computers become as much about fun and play as they are about work as time passes.

Want to take a picture? Rory asked.

Do you have a fancy camera? Vickie said piping up.

Something like that. He said not taking the iPad from Anthony's hands but instead turning it on. That familiar Apple bonging noise filled the room.

Come on, everyone gather round.

We did as he asked and a moment later we all appeared on the screen as the picture snapped.

Holy shit. Anthony said softly under his breath and this one time we didn't comment on his language. For her part Vickie just squealed.

Shall we print out a copy? I asked. After a few seconds the printer switched on and soon enough we were holding the picture in our hands.

And I wanted to pause here mid letter and say, thank you, Doctor. For all these little things that are so, so big. A printer with perpetual ink, a better wifi connection to the Internet than we had in 2023. Phones that never run out of battery power and a dozen other things that bring us so much comfort and joy. All soniced by you, a gift that keeps on giving.

This is so cool! Vickie practically shouted. Are there any toys?

Rory and I laughed but Anthony was again rather silent.

Aren't you wigged out? He asked her suddenly.

Why would I be wigged, Tony? They're still Mom and Daddy.

I know but...they just told you they're not even from our time.

She only shrugged and that appeared to exasperate him.

What about Melody? Is she from the future too?

Ummm yes, she is. I said with a nod.

Where did you adopt her?

We didn't. We-

Wait a minute, Anthony interrupted. You mean Melody is your real kid?

First of all you're  _all_  our  _real_  kids. But if you mean biological, then yes, she ours in that way.

What did you think? Rory asked with a bit of confusion.

Well, she looks...or when I look at old pictures it looks like she  _used_  to look... He stopped, clearly frustrated before starting again. So the Doctor you write about, he's real? He's really real?

He is!? Vickie asked. Can we meet him!?

Yes, he's real. But as for meeting him, I'm afraid not. We won't ever be able to see him again, love.

Why not? Where is he? Melody sees him! Anthony insisted, raising his voice.

Because we got separated, Tony. It's like, he's on one side of a door and we're on another and neither of us can break through. I said softly hoping to make him understand.

But in your books, he's a hero. He won't stop at anything to save people that's what he does. Are you just making all that up?

No, no I'm not but there are times when even the best of intentions-

I never wanted to think about this again! He suddenly shouted and I think all three of us jumped. I just want things to be the way they are in every other house. A normal mom and a normal dad with normal sisters. Why do you have to be so fucking strange?

A few years ago you said that you liked that we weren't like other parents. I replied quietly.

Well, I changed my mind. You think I don't know what you guys do? Writing tours. Medical conferences. You both get all weird when Uncle Jack comes by but you get excited too. Or you get something in the mail and then one of you is gone for a week or a month. Do you think I'm stupid?

Where do you guys go? Vickie asked in a small voice. She looked stricken.

Tony, we'll discuss this later. Rory said pointedly.

What's to discuss? This is fucked up, Dad! It's fucked! And you just dump this on us and expect us to deal with it!

Anthony! Go to your room right now and don't you even think of coming out until your mother or I give you permission!

I glanced at my husband and I saw his face flushed red with anger. Anthony looked much the same as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

I have no idea what has gotten into him. Rory said slamming his hand down on a nearby table causing Vickie to jump.

Rory, easy. I said throwing a glance at him and then our daughter. With some effort he calmed himself and we finished up with Vickie, answering her question, explaining what we could and reassuring her that everything was fine with her brother.

Though not much later in our bedroom I wasn't so sure.

Have we missed something? Rory asked. Did we do something wrong in all this?

Undoubtedly.

Rory rolled his eyes.

Helpful, Amy.

No, I'm serious. We're in a very unique situation and what are the odds that we did this right? That we covered every possible base. We dropped a ball here, Rory, big time. And we have to figure out what it is.

I know, I know...I have to go talk to him.

I'll come too.

No, I think for some reason this is about he and I.

Rory leaned over to kiss me distractedly before heading out of the room.

I'm not certain what happened tonight, Doctor. I'm not sure why our son was so angry but I know we're going to get to the bottom of it.

But...even though I reassured my husband not so long ago that everything would be alright. There are times I'm not so certain and it really, really scares me.

Children do have a tendency to slip through your fingers, don't they?

I don't want to lose anymore.

Love across the stars, Doctor

Love, your Ponds

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things here, Apple Hats seem to be like little upside down apple pies that look like hats. They're from "the esteemed family of English apple puddings". Also, I've seen a lot of stories where characters just accept impossible, weird things and go on about their lives un-traumatized. I wanted to throw in a bit of drama with Anthony. Not only does he not want to think about who his parents are he also doesn't want to think about what they do and how they're still risking their lives. I imagine it's a bit like knowing Superman is Clark Kent or vice versa. It must be hard to watch him put on the glasses or the cape and walk out the door. Who are you really talking to? Which one of them is real? And what if one day neither of them comes back because they went off to deal with something they decided was more important than you? I just don't think Anthony would handle this well. I think he'd be angry and he'd feel cheated and lied to in a way. He's also a teenager so every single emotion is amplified to the nth degree.


	179. March 9, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

9th of March 1960

Dear Doctor,

You know those night where you talk and talk and talk? You just discuss things from top to bottom in all these ways that you haven't before? And when you're in the middle of it you're think, Yes, this is it. Now we're finally getting down to it. But once it's over, you're not truly certain if you've resolved anything at all?

Tonight was one of those nights.

People always say, Don't go to bed angry. Amy and I have tried, succeeded and failed at that over the years. But I wanted to make sure I didn't fail with my kids.

I knocked on my son's door, my Dad would have just barged ahead, but I waited for him to say; Come in.

I stepped inside and met his gaze. He was scowling and clearly ready for a fight, but I was done with fighting, or at least I wanted to be.

Let me guess, I'm grounded.

Well, yeah, that goes without saying. Swearing in front of your mother  _and_ you sister  _at_ me. Oh yes, you're most definitely grounded but that's not why I'm here.

I walked in and sat on the edge of his bed.

We need to talk, Anthony...sorry, Tony. You're angry and I get that...but I need you to explain to me what it is you're angry about because I don't know.

He scoffed and started picking at the pattern on his bedspread, his legs drawn up close to his body.

I'm serious. I'm here, I'm listening, I'm willing to be reasonable if you're willing to do the same. Please, talk to me. Do you feel that we haven't been paying you enough attention, maybe? That we've been diverting a lot of it towards Vickie? Because I would understand if-

Vickie? He asked and he looked truly taken aback. Heck no, Vickie needs you guys. The way she gets treated at school...well, if I could I go with her and slug anybody who even looked at her sideways. This isn't about Vick. She's a Goober but she's my little sister.

I smiled at him feeling silly for all those years ago when I wondered and worried if they'd bond.

So what is it about?

He took a deep breath and eyed me before glancing away.

All of this was a mistake. He said quickly.

Ok, what do you mean? I asked him and I had to stop myself from adding, Use you words, like I had done when he was little.

You and mom never meant to be here. This entire part of your life was a mistake and that means that Vickie and I were a mistake.

Whoa, wait a second, how do you figure that?

You're not supposed to be here. He stressed again. You're supposed to be in the future. You're supposed to be young when I'm an old man. I did the math.

I nodded as I digested what he was saying.

You're right about one thing, we didn't intend on coming here. It was an accident, a terrible accident and at first...we even thought it was a tragedy.

See, that's what I-

Let me finish. But what we realized, was that as frightening as it was, it wasn't the end, it wasn't a tragedy and it wasn't the end of us. We were living in the year 2023 and then we were sent back 85 years in the past to 1939. Think about that. Imagine if you were sent back to 1875. Everything you know about it is from history book and telly. You don't know the customs, you don't know how to dress, how to talk, and add on top of that you're a foreigner, so for you, imagine you're in England. Britain is still an Empire, you don't know anybody, you don't know where to go or what to do, you don't even have the proper currency. But you're stuck, permanently and no one is coming to rescue you. No one is coming to pull your feet out of the fire at the last moment. You've hit the ground running and the only thing to do is to keep running. But what makes it ok, what made it ok was that I had the one person that truly mattered by my side, running with me, your Mum. So I figure this was as meant to be as anything else.

Unfortunately, Doctor my rosy little speech didn't have the desired effect on my son.

But you didn't...shit...what's the word?  _Integrieren_?

Assimilate. I supplied. He still had tiny linguistic struggles when he got upset, but nothing compared to when he was a small boy.

Yeah, assimilate. You didn't do it.

How do you figure?

Because I know what you guys do! I know what Mom was doing in Tennessee and Ottawa and the Everglades and what you were doing in Brazil and Portland and Cairo and I know who Uncle Jack is!

Ok, calm down and tell me then, what were we doing?

You were fighting...creatures I guess.

I swallowed.

Yeah, yes I was. We both were fighting.

And getting hurt.

Yes, sometimes we get hurt.

But why? You made it through the war but it's like you're  _trying_ to get hurt. No...but I  _know_ why.

His words were coming out rapidly and angrily as he continued.

You're not happy here. You and mom are miserable and bored and you miss the future and you wish you were there and if you could, you'd leave us. You'd leave me and Vickie all alone.

I saw his bottom lip start to tremble and his eyes fill with unshed tears and suddenly it hit me, Doctor and I felt like such an arse.

So many years ago Vitus had expressed his fear and distrust through that long, aching period of silence. Staring at me mutely not saying a word but bracing himself for the next upheaval, for the next person who would leave him. I had understood it then. Why had I been so thick now? Because here was another little boy who'd been abandoned. And though we'd loved and held him and kept him close and safe and adored, those fears of that upheaval, of being left again still lingered. And here they were, all his fears baring angry, frightening teeth.

Oh, Tony. Tony, sweetheart, come here. I said. He fought against it briefly as I pulled him into my arms but eventually he gave up and slumped against me weeping.

You're afraid you're going to lose us. Like your first mum and dad. I should have realized.

I stroked his hair as he cried wanting so badly to kick myself for not figuring this out sooner.

Mein kleiner, your mother and I are sorry for scaring you so. We had no idea.

Why would you start this now? He repeated. When you're safe?

We-we didn't start it now. We're just continuing it.

I felt him go stiff with surprise. He hadn't expected that answer.

Tony, this has always been a part of our lives, essentially since we were 19.

You've always just gone off like this?

Mmhmm. I nodded. Your sister too. We've been doing this off and on for, my goodness, has it been that long? 35 years. Does that help at least? To know that your mum and I know what we're doing? That we were trained by the best?

A little. He said grudgingly. It's still dangerous.

Yeah, it is. I can't pretend that it isn't. But we're both as careful as we can be. Tony...you Mum is a writer, I'm a doctor but even though we tried to deny it  _this_ is our job. We made a commitment a long time ago to protect this planet and help when we could.

Because of the Doctor.

I nodded. Because of the Doctor. But listen to me, nothing trumps our commitment to you. We love you, we love you so much. From the moment we saw you-

At this point I started to tear up a little, thinking about that tiny little boy he had been. A little boy who no one wanted, who had grown into the apple of mine and Amy's eye. A remarkable boy who was growing into an incredible man.

From the moment we saw you we knew we were looking at our son. We will never hurt you and never ever leave you. Not ever.

I know, Dad.

But you didn't. Maybe not deep down. And we're sorry for making you question it, ok son?

Ok, Dad.

Forgive me? I asked pulling back to smile at him.

Yeah. He nodded.

Thanks.

Am I still grounded?

Oh yeah, but not for too long. When I came in here it was going to be a week.

Wow, you were pretty angry.

Yeah, I was. I'm thinking a day will do. Straight home from school tomorrow and no TV.

Sounds fair.

I'm glad we talked, Tony.

Me too.

Ready for bed? I said raising up a bit so I could reflexively fit the covers around his body.

Are you tucking me in? He asked with a laugh.

I suppose I am. And I don't want to hear anything about you being 15 and far too old for this. I get to decide when tucking-in's end because I'm the dad. I teased smiling at him as he settled down in his bed.

All better?

Better. Dad...?

Yes?

Will you tell me about him?

Him? The Doctor?

Yeah.

Starting from where?

From the beginning. He said simply.

Oh Anthony, you have no idea just how long that would all take. And trust me, there's great big boring bits.

I won't get bored. Is it like how mom writes it?

Umm, it is and it isn't. There are some additions and omissions.

I know its late but just tell me one thing about him.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

Alright, one thing. The Doctor was my very best mate. With the exception of your mother, he was the best friend I ever had.

Did you like him straight away?

Oh God, no. I couldn't stand him.

Really? Why?

Because I thought he was going to steal your mother away from me.

Anthony's eyes got wide. But...he's an alien.

I nodded and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead before turning out his lamp.

He sure is.

Will you tell me your stories someday? He asked me as I lingered in his doorway.

If you like, Tony. I'll tell you whatever you want.

I saw him smile in the darkness.

Tell me one more thing, Dad.

One more thing. Oh, alright, here's something, the Doctor is your brother-in-law.

What!? You mean Melody-

Night, son. I said quietly shutting the door with a chuckle.

So there you have it, Doctor. We had a talk, probably the first of many. But after rereading what I've written here, maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe we won't always be locking horns. I just don't want to relive those years with my Dad but from the other side, you know?

I should write to him, it's been awhile.

But first off to tell Amy what we did wrong and how I hoped I fixed it.

Goodnight, Doctor.

All my love,

Rory


	180. May 14, 2045

**Sent: May 14, 2045**

**To: Amy Pond**

**From: Tabetha Pond**

**Cc:**

**Subject: How I Miss You**

* * *

Dear Amelia,

When you were 3 you got your head stuck between that loose slat in the gate that lead to the garden. Your father and I had told you that you weren't to go down alone so you said, Well if I can't be there I want to see it.

You were always so like that. So headstrong, literally. Hahaha.

I don't know what happens to email addresses once the owner dies.

Perhaps this will just be returned to me. Perhaps it will vanish into the ether.

The Facebook gave us an opportunity to archive your page as a memorial. A sort of virtual shrine. Your father and I asked a few of your friends what they thought about the idea and they seemed to approve, so that's what we did. And there you sit. You and Rory, frozen in time.

I have read your last posting over and over and over for the past two decades.

_September 6th 2023_

_1:15 AM_

_Who are these people that can eat a tiny cup of soup and half a sandwich? Why don't they opt for the whole sandwich and a punch bowl of soup? What's the harm? More soup, I say! Hang those who talk of less!_

I know it by heart. Those silly written words, the last words I have from you. So innocuous. So very you. So Amy.

Did I ever tell you a daft old woman in a coffee shop in Inverness gave you your name? Your Dad and I were chatting about moving and then we started talking about you and names. This woman, out of nowhere just said, Name her Amelia.

It wasn't even something I was considering but the moment I heard it I fell in love. You were Amelia from that second on. Gracious, what if you'd been a boy? Amelio, I suppose? But then again that doesn't have quite the same magic, does it?

I was tidying up a bit today, deciding what could be sent to the charity shops and what would be better off just being binned and I came across an old Halloween costume of yours. A little bumble bee outfit from when you were 5 or 6, perhaps. Before everything became about that Doctor of yours. Speaking of him, I would have contacted him for the funeral if I'd had the slightest idea of how to get hold of him. I looked through your things and there was no number, no information, nothing at all. Surely he must know some of your other friends. I looked for him that day. Why wouldn't he be there to say goodbye to you and Rory. I think that was shameful but I know you always used to say I was old fashioned. Well I've only gotten more so in the past years, not less.

I think with the exception of your birthday and Christmas, Halloween was your favorite holiday.

You so loved costumes and being out until all hours of the night with dear Rory and Mels. They were over here so often, you all were nigh inseparable. I loved them both like my own children and now all my children are dead.

That's something they don't teach you, Amy-Jess, how to mourn for your dead child. It's something your learn through bumps and scrapes and bruises and late night tears. I still haven't learnt it yet.

One particular day I saw you and Rory, you stopped by for tea and your cheeks had this rosiness to them that I hadn't seen before. There was this little roundness to your face. Forgive the cliche but, there was a glow. I thought, She's going to tell us she's pregnant! Oh, I can't wait! But I won't spoil it. I won't. I'll let them both give us the news in their own time. But you never said anything. Did something happen? Were there troubles? Your Aunt Sharon had trouble conceiving. The next thing I knew you were off to America for one romp or another. I wish we could have talked. I wish you could have told me. But maybe there was nothing to tell.

There were days after your death that I had to shove my fist into my mouth just to keep from screaming. The solace that you went with Rory, together, was little solace at all.

Amy, I don't think I ever handled you right. I wanted a spirited child but once I had one I had no idea what to do with her. I fear, as I look back, that I was too often cross with you, exasperated, dismissive. I sent you to all those doctors because I wanted them to fix you. I wanted you to be a normal little girl with a circle of friends not just naughty Mels and obedient Rory.

I'd like to say I did my best but looking back I'm not so certain and I'm sorry.

I stopped by to say goodbye to Brian Pond today. He has a serenity and peace about all this that I envy. I don't see the same haunted pain around his eyes that I did when I looked at your Dad or when I look in the mirror. Perhaps because he's got family around him. I just told Brian what I'll tell you.

The house here in Leadworth is all packed up. I see little need to keep such a large space now that it's just me. I came here for your father and now with him gone I think it's time for me to return to Scotland.

There are too many little corners and nooks of space and time that remind me of you and everyone else that I've lost.

I'll be glad to go, I think.

No. I  _know_.

I hate Leadworth and I will gladly bid good riddance to this vile, greedy little hamlet that somehow managed to take, quietly, everything away from me that I loved.

I'm nearing my end and I want to be buried under the soil of Inverness when I go.

I miss Augustus. All I have are his ashes now.

It's Mothering Sunday and I miss you.

I've started letters like this time and time again over the years but I've never sent them off. This time, I think I will. I'll press the send button and I won't wait to see if it gets boomeranged back to me. I can't bear to see a Delivery Error. I'm going to press this button, log off and never check this or any other email again.

There's no one to write to anymore and that way I will never know. I would like to not know something for once. I fear I know too much.

I'm going to pretend that you got this email.

I love you, Amelia. You were the best daughter any mother has ever been graced with. I would have enjoyed seeing you be a mother. I'm sorry you were robbed of that and that I was robbed of the chance to mother you just a bit more.

My dear Amy. My wee little gingersnap. My Amy-Jess.

I love you. I miss you. I'm saying goodbye now, again.

Perhaps I'll see you soon.

Your loving mum,

Tabetha


	181. May 15, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Professor River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

15th of May 1960

Melody? Are you there? I know you're probably busy but it's late and I don't want to wake Rory and I-

I'm here, Mum. What's wrong? Something's upset you.

How can you tell?

Your writing is all wibbly and off. What happened is it Dad, Vickie, Tony?

No, no everyone is fine. It's just...God, and the funny thing is I never check my email, not ever.

What happened?

My mum wrote me. Mother's Day, 2045. My Dad's dead, she's...

Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Augustus...Granddad was a good man.

He was and I've been crying for about three hours now.

I'll pop round.

No, baby. No. I can't have you running over here at the drop of a hat.

Mum-

You're busy and I just wanted to have a little chat.

Mum-

I'm fine, really. You know how I get at night-

 _Amy_! Listen to me. I'm coming, alright? I haven't seen you in nearly two years anyway. Well, two years for me.

Two years?

Yeah, it's been hard to get away. But I decided to take a bit of a sabbatical and you and Dad were going to be my first extended stop. That is, if you'll have me.

Of course we'll have you. But I really don't want to throw the house into a tizzy right now at 3am. What about lunch tomorrow? I have a meeting with Martin in the morning but after that I'm free.

Ok, sounds good. But, just so I'm prepared, what was it your wanted to talk about.

It was something my mother said in the email. She said she didn't think she'd done right by me. When I read it, it was as if a part of me didn't understand what she was getting at. But this other part of me got so angry, like I knew exactly what she was saying and I agreed with her. Everything in my head is so muddled. All the timelines are confused. Why am I so angry with her, with both of them?

Oh, mum, don't you know?

No...I guess I don't. But from that reply I assume you do.

Look, we'll talk tomorrow. You and I. I had something I needed to ask you anyway.

Ok, shall we meet at Neil's?

I'll see you there at noon.

Love you, Melody.

I love you too.

 


	182. May 15, 1960 (II)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**15th of May, 1960**

Dear Doctor,

A very long time ago you told me the reason you ran away with me. Though I have to say I didn't believe a word of it. In fact I don't believe you've ever  _really_  told me. Not truly.

But there's something else we never discussed.

Why did  _I_ run away with  _you_?

Yeah, I know I was afraid to get married, to be tied down, to wind up some housewife in a little town so boring sometimes  _it_  probably even forgets it existed.

But more than that...why did I run away with you?

I met Melody at Neil's, a diner that was loved by every member of the Pond family. We all had a special order we enjoyed but I wasn't really hungry today.

I arrived early but was only there long enough to have a sip of my water before my daughter breezed in. I greeted her with a huge hug before pulling back and gazing at her face.

My goodness, look at you. You look incredible.

Oh! She said and touched her cheek almost self consciously. I've been playing around a bit. Ratcheting back the age just to get a rise out of people.

Is that the only reason? I asked teasingly.

Well, no, I like it. I like the way I feel, I like the way I look. She admitted with a blush.

Just then the waitress walked up.

May I get you and your daughter something to drink?

I saw Melody glance at me nervously, but I was thrilled. I was tired of having to lie, Doctor. She's not my mother or my sister or a cousin or distant family relation. She's my daughter. And while I take no great pleasure in growing older  _and_ while, I admit, my vanity bristled just the slightest bit, I am overwhelmingly happy that now, finally I can proudly and without receiving any strange looks from people say, Yes, this is my daughter.

Just a Coke for me and I'm not sure what my little girl wants. I said with a grin.

Water will be fine, thank you. That didn't bother you? She asked tentatively once he'd walked away.

Of course not. I'm your mum and I'm glad. So, young lady, how are things going?

Good, wonderful in fact. I've been teaching and writing. I've gotten some of my work published. Been on a few digs. Lost Ciity of Krios. The Vanishing Moon of Tav-La. It's everything I ever dreamed of doing.

You always said, even when we were kids that you had big plans. You weren't going to let anything stop you. I said smiling fondly.

Just trying to live up to the Pond legacy. Speaking of which, how is Torchwood Black?

I watched her mouth draw tighter as she said it though she tried her best to stay pleasant. She was still just as unhappy with us working with Jack and the mysterious group as I imagine you are.

Good, well, we haven't had anything to do recently. I popped in and out of Lop Nor. There was a rumor about living sand...had to check it out. I said as casually as I could.

Lop Nor. In the Lop Desert? She asked clearly looking displeased. XinJiang, China?

I cleared my throat before saying. That's the one.

So, was there living sand?

No, living mud...well actually...well, I say  _living_ -

Sometimes you sound so much like him. She said with an affectionate yet irritated shake of her head.

Him who?

Him, the the Doctor.

Well, I'll take that as a compliment then.

We sipped tea, chatted and generally caught up on one another's lives, clearing the deck before we got to the big stuff.

So, were you able to get to sleep last night? She asked me.

Eventually. It was hard fought, though. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

I don't think so, Mum. You first. She replied with a patient but stubborn smile.

I took a deep breath and tried to gather my thoughts. Resolutely I opened my purse and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Here, I printed it out. I said handing her the email.

She read it quickly...almost as quickly as you can read Doctor.

With a sigh she set it down on the table before absently stirring her tea.

That was...

Yeah, I know. Like I said I just burst into tears. I can't quite believe how much I miss them sometimes. But that's not what this is about.

What  _is_  it about, really? She asked reaching across the table and putting her hand on mine.

What does she mean there where she says she doesn't think she did right by me?

Melody pressed her lips together seeming hesitant to speak.

Mum...how many psychiatrists did Tabetha send you to?

Four. I answered quickly.

No.

What do you mean, no? I said staring at her in confusion. I remember, it was four. Doctor Brinkley, Doctor Saknussem, Doctor Corner and Doctor Hugh, he's the one I bit.

I know you believe it was four. But it's a combination of the crack in your wall and denial that  _allows_  you to believe that. Mum, it was more like twelve and I'm being conservative. Eventually you were persona non grata with every psychiatrist in Leadworth. So your parents, they wound up sending you farther away. They sent you to Gloucester, they sent you to Cheltenham, to Cardiff, to Swansea. From the time you were seven on they sent you away. They even talked about shipping you off to a boarding school. All this in an effort to drive the Doctor from your head.

My mind was reeling, Doctor. I didn't remember any of this, none of it. Except...as she began to speak some of it did start coming back. Memories, here and there that mostly involved packing and unpacking that little tan suitcase of mine with the red border. The same one I sat on, fell asleep on, in my garden waiting for you to come back. Filling it with my clothes and little Doctor doll I'd made and being sent off. Sent somewhere far away and lonely, without my mum and dad and my two best friends.

_How did I forget that? How did I forget that?_

It's alright. Melody said and I realized I'd said those words out loud. The Doctor told me once that he asked you, right before he flew the Pandorica, Did it ever bother you that your life didn't make sense. When we all set the universe right we didn't fix everything, we couldn't. That's why rumors and myths about Dad still exist when they shouldn't. That's why you've got two sets of memories and you can't always keep them straight or even hold it all in your head.

She squeezed my hand again before continuing.

It really is alright. But it explains why you were angry then. It explains why you're angry even now though you don't know why. Those first sets of memories, what do you recall of Aunt Sharon?

She was...fine. I said, trying to bring up anything more specific than that. My head was starting to ache as everything I remembered and didn't remember came converging in on one other.

She wasn't alright. My daughter answered sharply. In the universe where your parents were swallowed up by the crack she was the one who was supposed to tend to you, only she didn't.

It wasn't that bad. I wasn't afraid. I insisted weakly.

Mum, she left you alone all the time. I saw it, I remember. She'd come home from work, change clothes and if you were lucky, fix you a sandwich for dinner. Then she'd breeze out again not to return until 1 or 2 in the morning.

She was young. She got stuck with me.

Bollocks. She had a responsibility. And the truth is the universe was merciful to her because she was the beneficiary of two insurance policies for two people who never even existed. She could have hired a sitter or even a nanny for you and she didn't.

The tears first stung then started to outright burn my eyes. I tried to blink them away but they went streaming down my cheeks.

She left you all alone, mum. And your parents made an ugly habit of abandoning you at every chance they got. Whenever you got too difficult, too headstrong, too different. Two lifetimes of neglect for a little girl is two times too much. I'm so sorry. So very sorry for making you cry but this has all got to be said or you'll keep on blaming yourself. All of them, every grownup in your life lied to you. Sharon never told you when she was coming back. Tabetha and Augustus never told you where you were going or when you were coming home. And they all acted as though they were...embarrassed of you when you mentioned the Doctor, even at your own wedding reception. I saw them, how they cringed, how they tried to make excuses and apologies for you like you were some madwoman. How dare they be ashamed of you. How dare they. And not one of them eve bothered to apologize when he actually did show up.

Melody's words were heated and I was crying quietly now by this time and the ugly truth of what she was saying was laid bare. She was right and all of it was coming back to me so fresh and bright that I wanted to covers my eyes and run.

What did the Doctor say to you, just before he left when you were seven?

Five minutes. I choked out. He said, Give me five minutes I'll be right back.

And what did you say? She pressed.

People always say that. I replied. And I remembered how I felt at that moment. Knowing you weren't coming back but still praying you would.

People always say that. She repeated. Because people had been saying that to you even then. The Doctor is wrong, I'm not saying he helped the situation but he didn't cause it. Even I grew up and forgot. But mum, there is a reason you and Dad and I clung so tightly to one another when we were children. All of us had our parents leave, in one way or another.

I must have gotten a horrified and guilty look on my face because she immediately held up her hands.

Only I was lucky enough to get them back. And I did, I got you both back.

I'm sorry. I said softly.

Don't you apologize. I wouldn't change one moment of my life. Not one. It's all unfolded the way it was meant to. Not to mention this is about you. Now, do you understand why you were so angry when you read that?

Yeah. I sniffled. I think so.

Good. Then maybe now you can start to forgive. For their sake and for yours. People have given you so much shit over your life. Remember, our late night talks in your bedroom? We'd rehash all the ugly things people had said about us and then we'd swear up and down and sideways that we didn't care and it didn't hurt. But we did. And it did. And I think we both took far, far too much of it to heart. It's time to let that go as well. What say?

She smiled at me and I gave a teary smile in return.

Ok. I said quietly while dabbing at my eyes with a napkin. I daresay things make a bit more sense now. Are you keeping anymore life altering secrets?

Spoilers. She said and I detected just the slightest hint of sadness. My only point was now you can understand, why you ran away from Dad and why you ran off with the Doctor. Why it all scared you so much. The only thing more frightening than the idea of someone not being there was the idea of someone hanging round. Ultimately we're all raised to become precisely what we are. But if we're very lucky and work very hard, we can evolve beyond our programming.

Sometimes it takes another person to clear things up for you, Doctor. In both timelines once I was grown up enough to make my own decisions I never really spoke to Sharon again. I never told my mother I was dating Rory, I never told she or my Dad we were engaged. Rory thought it was about him but it wasn't. Somewhere along the line I just stopped telling them things, little and big events in my life. By the end of it, I wasn't telling them much of anything at all. For the longest time I only really allowed myself to trust two people, Rory and you. I guess now I have a better understanding of why.

Are there things you've forgotten, Doctor?

Are there things you've made yourself forget?

As always, there's more to tell but quite honestly I'm still processing all of this and I'd kind of like to talk it over with Rory. We're home now. Melody is going to stay with us for awhile and the whole house is overjoyed. I hope she knows what she's in for, she won't have a moments peace with the four of us clamoring for her attention. We miss her so much. It's good to be a family again.

We miss you as well...always.

More tomorrow, Doctor.

Love,

Your Ponds.

P.S. Doctor, even though you were late, thanks for coming back for me. You were the first one that ever did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Two things: 1) Because it's my story and I can do what I want, (LOL) I took another liberty here. Alex Kingston was a gorgeous 45 when she filmed Silence in the Library. But I hate that she didn't get a chance to "take the age down a little bit, just gradually, to freak people out" as she mentioned she wanted to do in Let's Kill Hitler. Obviously that would have been hard to impossible to do it on TV. But I can do it here. So, what I want you to picture from now on is Alex circa 1997. That was her first year on ER, the first time I ever saw her. She was 34, looked about 28 and was just luminous. Again, I know she's a bit older when she goes to the Library, but whatev's, it's my story. :P
> 
> 2) One of the things that continues to bother me, even now, two years since their departure, is how people regard Amy. She's been getting flack since she kissed the Doctor at the end of Flesh & Stone. That's essentially where the cries of "She's not good enough for Rory." started and continued basically until the end of the series. Flighty. Mean. Immature. You name it and she got it hurled at her. The truth is some people were never going to like her but for those who were/are willing to listen, I offer this. 
> 
> In the Eleventh Hour when the Doctor crash lands in her garden it's 9:30pm and she is a seven year old who's home alone. She's already pretty handy in the kitchen by the food she fixes for him so one would assume she's been making her meals on her own for some time. She's responsible enough to say her prayers and put herself to bed. As the Doctor himself points out "You're not scared of anything. Box falls out of the sky, man falls out of a box, man eats fish custard, and look at you, just sitting there." This is a kid whose been left alone. A lot. This is a jaded kid who already knows how to take care of herself. Fast forward to the opening scenes of The Big Bang where Aunt Sharon has brought in a shrink because Amy keeps talking about stars. It takes her but a few seconds to grow irritated with the child in her care. Then at the wedding reception when Amy is starting to remember. Her mother stands up and addresses everyone by saying "The psychiatrists we sent her to!" If you look closely you can see the rarely viewed Aunt Sharon in a black fascinator make an irritated face and covering her eyes in embarrassment. I don't think Moffat omits Amy's parents later on in the series because he's clumsy (though I know sometimes he is), I don't think they had much of a place in her life. I know she loved them but I can't imagine her trusting them.
> 
> I'm not saying Amy was abused. But I am saying in every timeline she was neglected and abandoned and all her behavior that some people find so objectionable can be traced back to stuff I don't even have to make up about her childhood. I'm saying she's a lot more like Anthony than she even knows.
> 
> I am an unapologetic Amy fan, always have been, always will be. And I think she is a fully formed, well rounded character, I don't think she's a Mary Sue (she couldn't be if she tried), I don't think she's two dimensional, I don't think she's a trope or a manic pixie girl. I don't think he life revolves around the Doctor. I don't think she needs to be redeemed, I don't think she needs anyone to apologize for her. At most, like all of us, she needed to feel people loved her, would be there for her and wouldn't abandon her. And also like all of us, she needed to grow up, just a bit. And you know what? That's totally ok.


	183. May 16, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**16th of May, 1960**

Dear Doctor,

Our mobiles and computers have stayed linked in to the time that Rory and I left, allowing us to keep track of things going on in the lives of our old friends. For them it's 2045. Children have finished up university, gotten married, had children of their own. Some of our friends, the most stable couples we knew have called it quits.

Beverly and Bernard. Rory said one night while he was in the loo, toothbrush in one hand, iPhone in the other. And it's nasty too. The things they're saying about one another on Facebook is enough to turn my hair white.

I didn't see that, where did you see that? I asked scrolling through my own phone.

On Bernards page. It's all over my timeline.

He must have unfriended me. Bernard  _unfriended_  me, can you believe that?

Well, you have been dead for over two decades.

So, have you but he kept you about. Plus that means he unfriended a memorial page! What kind of person unfriends a memorial page, Rory? I see why Beverly left him.

You know, you never used to laugh at his jokes.

Neither did Beverly. I countered.

And look at where you both are now. He teased.

Do you think the funeral was well attended? I said suddenly.

Ours? Probably. We had a few friends...well, we tried at least.

We weren't very good at it I suppose. Do you think it was like that with some of the other people that traveled with the Doctor?

I imagine so. I'm sure there's always a bit of tempest when it comes to him. Don't you think its odd that none of them have ever written about him? He said as he switched off the light and slipped into bed.

What, you mean like a tell-all?

Sort of...more like My Life And Times With The Doctor: A Memoir.

I giggled at the title.

Well, that means the field is clear for you to run with that, title and all.

Yeah, I'll get right on that. No, but I'm serious. He never made us take some sort of secrecy oath. I doubt he insisted his other friends did. So, why is everyone so silent?

I thought for a minute, Doctor and that's when it came to me. The answer was bittersweet.

It's because...you tend to write about things that for better or worse are over and done with. When you write something, you're closing a chapter on it. It goes from being the present to the past. I think they all think they're going to see him again. That he and the next adventure may be just around the corner. No one wants to close the door on that.

Except that we know that door is closed to us. He said quietly.

Exactly. Which puts us in an unenviable but unique position. So, maybe you'd better get to writing.

Rory offered a sad smile.

Maybe I should. He agreed. So, are you finally ready to tell me what's wrong? I've given you long enough now to get yourself sorted or screw up your courage or what need be. Now, will you let me in on what's been troubling you?

I told him after that. No sense in rehashing it. As expected he was lovely and concerned and just so very Rory. Also as expected he knew, like Melody, that I'd apparently been to more shrinks that I could count.

I think that's just the nature of us. I shouldn't remember half the things I do and the world shouldn't remember me and yet and still...

He hugged me close before continuing and listened as I cried and rambled on about my Dad and memories I had of him. I told him about my talk with Melody. How confused I was about how...angry all this made me. And he understood, he understood all of it. And with the help of my husband and daughter I started to let some of it go.

I figure it like this. Rory began. We can spend our time being brassed off at our parents for what they did to us or we can spend our time being the best parents we can be.

I sniffled before answering.

I choose the latter.

Me too. But I do think, someday, Anthony might benefit from hearing your story. I think it might help him to not feel quite so alone. Truth is, there's not a person under this roof tonight who wasn't abandoned or left behind by the people who should have cared for them.

Speaking of, it's nice to have Melody here isn't it?

It's wonderful. How long is she staying?

She mentioned that she was on sabbatical and that she had something she wanted to ask us.

Hmmm...any ideas what that might be?

None, she didn't give a clue. But I know what you want it to be.

Oh don't act like you don't want it too. He said kissing me atop the head. Wouldn't it be delightful to be called Gran and Gramps?

Of course.

But only by way of Melody of course. No grandchildren from the other two just yet.

Heaven forbid. You have had the talk with Anthony, haven't you?

We've had the This-is-all-the-crazy-stuff-your-body-is-going-to-do talk which leads into the more technical aspects of the sex talk. But it was all theoretical back then.

I don't know how theoretical it's going to be for long now. He's very interested in Janey. Very.

Oh God. Rory scrubbed his face. It's all too soon. What about you and Vickie?

Period talk, where babies come from talk, with more sex talk details to follow when she's deeper into her teens.

They're growing up aren't they?

Yeah. I agreed. All three of them. Do you ever wish we'd had more?

All the time. He answered almost immediately. I suppose I'm greedy like that.

Adora would be eighteen.

I know. Rory said softly.

It was then I decided to ask him something then that I rarely dared.

Rory, how old was Vitus when he-

Sixty four. And somehow it still felt as though I was losing that little boy I brought home.

I wish I could have met him.

So do I. I think he needed a mum and he would have loved you.

I think he had the finest father there was.

He smiled at me and I affectionately watched the lines form around his eyes.

The Doctor had children. I'd guess probably a lot of them.

That's the impression I always got as well.

Christmas morning...before he left, I asked him about them. He was nearly as open as he had ever been with us.

Where was I?

You'd gone to get some coffee. I asked if, not if he remembered them, but if he allowed himself to remember them. He said yes. "They sleep in back and the corners of my mind but I can call them forth when I need them, or want them, or miss them...or can bear them." He and Melody likely won't...

I don't think so. As nice as it is to pretend, I think they're both too damaged.

You know, we always talked about Melody, or the Doctor  _and_  Melody taking the kids were something to happen to us. If they did have a child or children and something...

I found that I couldn't finish that sentence, Doctor so I just picked up as though I had.

...well, we'd just take them in wouldn't we? We'd raise our own grandchild.

Of course we would. Rory said without hesitation. And when or if we couldn't anymore, we'd set up a trust so they'd be cared for after we were gone. We're a family. All of us.

And we'll remain a family come hell or high water. I said with finality.

Exactly. Rory said with a kiss to my temple.

So, Doctor, there you are. If that changes your mind in any way, if that was an unanswered question, you have it. If you ever went through with it, and if there was ever any trouble send him or her or them here. Trust that they'd be cared for, just as we all used to care for each other.

You're running out of excuses, Raggedy Man. We'll wear you down yet!

Don't worry, Earth isn't such a bad place to grow up.

Do you have any idea what it is that Melody wants to ask us?

Me neither.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy

 


	184. May 17 & March 16, 1960 (Vickie)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

_**Mum, Dad, these are a few of the letters Vickie and I have been writing back and forth to one another. I thought maybe you should have a look.**_

March 16, 1960

Dear Melody,

Hi! I asked Mom for your address and she gave me this paper. She said if I just wrote on it you would get it. Is that true?

I hope you're not too busy. I finished my homework as fast as I could so that I could write a letter to you. But how will you get it? And how will you write back?

Mom and Daddy also told me stuff. Stuff about you and them. A lot of it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. But, golly, a lot of it is really, really cool.

You're really from the future? And you really know the Doctor from Mom's stories? All those places you took Anthony and me when we were little, well, I always thought they were somewhere on earth but he says you took us to other planets! is that true?

I have a lot of questions so write back soon when you have the time!

Love,

Vickie


	185. March 17, 1960 (Melody)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Professor River Song to Miss Victoria Lake Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

March 17, 1960

Dear Vickie,

I always have time for you, Big Sister. Or are you my little sister? You were so grown up and clever when last I saw you that I'm afraid I've gotten confused! I miss you terribly, you and Tony both and I'm making plans to come and see you soon. When I do, we'll all sneak off somewhere once Mum and Dad are asleep and have a marvelous and naughty time. I'm sure I can find some trouble to get us in to!

So, they finally had the big talk with you, did they? I thought it might be coming because you're certainly old enough and smart enough to understand it. I suppose, yes, in a way I am from the future, I was born there, but I do a lot of travelling, so no place or time ever feels much like home. Except when I'm with my family of course. Yes, I do know the Doctor, in fact he's my husband which makes him your brother-in-law. And finally, yes, just about every place I ever took the two of you was on another world in another time. I figured you were young enough to just think people were in costume when you saw something or someone strange. Is that ok? I hope you don't think I've tricked you, that was never my intention. I do so love showing you and Anthony things. Like I said, we'll need to do something together again soon.

So, how are things at school?

You know you can tell me absolutely anything. I can understand far more than you think.

Your "Little" Sister,

Melody


	186. March 19, 1960 (Vickie)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

March 19, 1960

Dear Little Sister,

I didn't know you were married! Is he handsome? Do you kiss him? Can I see a picture of him, please? Did Mom have the talk with you about boys? She answered most of my questions but she said some stuff had to wait until I was older. Did Daddy give you away? You know who I think is handsome? Ricky Nelson! He's dreamy, don't you think so?

Tony has a girlfriend and when he had his friend Jerry over I was listening by his door and I heard him say he "Got to second base". But then I moved and the floorboard squeaked and he yelled at me and closed the door.

What does second base mean?

School is ok.

Love,

Your Big Sister Vickie


	187. March 20, 1960 (Melody)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Professor River Song to Miss Victoria Lake Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

20th of March, 1960

Dear Big Sister,

You certainly ask a lot of questions and believe me, there's nothing I love more than questions! Yes, I am married and yes he is terribly handsome. I'm a very lucky lady because he's a good and kind and strong and smart man, just like Dad.

Let's put it this way, Mum and I have had lots of talks about lots and lots of boys. But that is yet another discussion for when you're older.

Yes, Dad did give me away on my wedding day and Mum too. I'm so glad that they were there, it really meant a lot. It was a bit of a strange time. Not exactly how I pictured it but as you get older you'll see that things seldom are.

Now Vickie, you know it's not polite to eavesdrop, no matter how tempting. Tony need his privacy and his secrets like anyone else. As for second base...well...that again is something to discuss when you're older.

School is just ok? That's all? No grand tales of the mischief you've gotten into with friends? No boy you like that's a bit closer in proximity than Ricky Nelson?

Remember how I said before that you can tell me anything? I meant it.

I'd write a bit more but I've got to dash to class.

Love,

Your Little Sister Melody


	188. March 22, 1960 (Vickie)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

March 22, 1960

Dear Little Sister,

I don't like to talk about school. It makes everyone sore. It makes Mom look like she's going to cry. It makes Tony get into fights and then he gets into trouble. And it makes Daddy angry. I heard him once, I got up in the middle of night to get some milk and I heard him talking to Mom.

He said, If we get one more note like this sent home about her I'm going to that school and I will thrawddle that fucking (I know I'm not supposed to say that word!) principal until his eyes bulge from his head.

I don't know what thrawddle means, but I know it's about Mr. Dickerson and me.

I think things go better for everybody if I just dummy up when it comes to school. I don't want everybody to be angry at me or angry at all. So when they ask if school is ok, I say yeah, everything is ok.

I was going to stop writing right here but I went away for a while and thought about it and I think maybe I can tell you things if you promise not to get angry too.

The other kids at school are mean. Not all of them but a lot. They pull my hair and don't want to sit with me at lunch. They think I'm dumb and they won't play with me at recess.

They say I should go back where I came from.

They call me names. Really, really mean names that I don't like to think about. They say that Mom and Daddy adopted me by mistake because no one else wanted me and they'll send me back one day. I used to cry in front of them but I don't anymore. I am very good at not crying.

What did you mean when you said you had to run to class? Are you in school too?

Love, Vickie


	189. March 23, 1960 (Melody)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Professor River Song to Miss Victoria Lake Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

23rd of March, 1960

Dear Big Sister,

Oh, baby. No one is every cross with you, not about this, not ever! None of this is your fault. I believe you when you say you're very good at not crying, all Pond women are. But it is alright to cry sometimes.

It's actually spelled 'throttle' and it means to choke. I rather wish you hadn't heard that. Dad can have quite a temper if you get him going.

You should know this, Mum and Dad were so, so happy when they got you. They found you at the orphanage and they brought you home that day! That's not even how things normally work but they can be very persuasive. That means they know how to get their own way. They wanted you immediately and there is nowhere to "send you back" to because you are already home! Don't ever forget that!

I'm so sorry for what's been happening. I'm sorry that those awful children make fun of you. They're wrong, they're dead wrong. I know I should be generous because they're children and their views are really just their parents views shining through, but I can't be. I can't be generous with the little tossers because they're hurting you.

What if I told you it won't always be like this? Not for you. Not for this planet. There are so many things I wish I could show you.

But I know how you feel. I know what it's like to have them look at you and not even see you. It's almost like they're looking through you. I know what it's like for them to not expect very much from you yet always assume you're the troublemaker. I know what it's like to feel so lonely and different, even when you're surrounded by the best friends you'll ever, ever have. I know how the looks and the names hurt. I grew up in a very small place. It was a different time but...well, I was still different. And there wasn't a day that went by that someone didn't remind me of that. Vickie, I know how it makes you so sad you just want to curl up into a ball and shut out the world. But it also make you angry enough that you want to ball up your fists and just attack something or someone.

I _know_.

Maybe...it's about time to tell you _how_ I know.

Tell me what you think.

Your Little Sister,

Melody

P.S. Yes, I'm in school. I finished my degree not so long ago and now I'm a professor which is just a stuffy, posh way of saying I'm a teacher!


	190. March 25, 1960 (Vickie)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

March 25, 1960

Dear Little Sister,

If you're a teacher maybe I could go to your school. I'd be really good and raise my hand and not talk out of turn and I wouldn't expect to be your teacher's pet just because you're my sister. I'm really smart. Mom says I shouldn't brag, but I know stuff. I know German because Tony taught me and Mommy is teaching me French. She and Daddy say I have a really good ear. I'm not so good at math but I'm getting better.

Please, Melody, would you think about it? Then I wouldn't have to go to this school anymore. I know Mom and Daddy would say yes. I just know it!

You sound like you do know what I mean. Nobody ever knows what I mean. The things you wrote, they're what I feel all the time except I don't know how to say it. How did you know? Please tell me.

Love,

Vickie


	191. March 26, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Professor River Song to Miss Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Luna University to Manhattan US**

26th of March, 1960

Dear Big Sister,

Before I explain how I knew, I want to tell you a story.

Once there was a little starfish named Stream. Stream was all by herself in a huge ocean and she was just trying to make her way. Stream had been alone for a long time and she'd gotten used to it. She just thought that was the way things were supposed to be, how they would always be.

One day, Stream got hurt. She was hurt pretty badly. Badly enough that one of her little arms fell off. But Stream thought to herself, It's alright! I know how to fix it! And from that arm, Stream grew into another starfish. Completely new and a little different than she'd been before, but still a bit the same. Though she looked different and even thought a bit differently, she was still who she'd always been.

And the waves and the currents of the ocean carried Stream away. And though she'd lived for many years, she now found that she was little all over again. And she got to do things and see things and experience things that she had before, but in a new body and through new eyes. And best of all where once she'd been alone she now found herself with other starfish who became her friends and her family. Though she'd grown up once before, she grew up with them again because even though it's hard and it hurts sometimes, growing up can be fun.

Not everyone liked her. And sometimes that made her very upset. And sometimes she was frustrated that she didn't look like all the other starfish. But the others in her life made things ok. And best of all, the next time she got hurt and had to change again, they were all still there. Because that's what family is, family is being there.

What Stream learned was that she didn't have to be alone, even if she was different. She learned that pain, sometimes, very literally, turns us into something new. But that doesn't mean we forget who we were or that there was anything wrong with who we used to be.

Now, Vickie, I know, you're a big girl and that may be a bit of a baby story for you. But I promise in a short while, it will make sense.

Now, run and ask Mum for a very old picture book. It's the big, thick blue one with the leather cover. Look for the picture of Mum and Dad as kids and another little girl. It will be from a fair and they'll be a sign behind them from a ride that says Ghost Train. All three of them will be smiling and having a good time. Slip the picture out, look at it, come back to your bedroom and write to me, alright?

I promise, this will make as much sense as it can in a bit.

Love you!

Melody

 


	192. March 26/May 17th, 1960 (Vickie/Melody)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Manhattan US to Luna University**

March 26, 1960

Dear Little Sister,

I got the picture. I know it's Mom and Daddy when they were little. Who's the girl? She's pretty. Daddy doesn't look like he wants to ride the ghost train but Mom and the girl are pulling him along anyway. It's funny! I can't imagine Daddy scared. Nothing frightens him.

I liked the story about Stream. I didn't think it was baby-ish. But you still haven't told me how you know what you know.

Love,

Vickie

* * *

_17th of March 1960_

_Dear Mum & Dad,_

_I'm cutting it off here mainly because Vickie asked me to. I tried to explain things as best I could to her but as you can imagine it was difficult. We went back and forth a bit through letter form until finally we had a very long and late night chat on the phone._

_She asked me, You were coloured?_

_I told her yes, I was. For 22 years._

_And then you stopped. Is it because you didn't want to be anymore?_

_I told her, No, baby. Remember how I told you about Stream the Starfish? Well, I had an accident and I got hurt. Like I told you when I get hurt, I change._

_You regenerate._

_Exactly. And I never know exactly what I'll change into. But I loved being Mels, I was proud to be Mels and sometimes I really miss being her. I learned a lot being her. And a lot of the stuff I learned, I'd like to teach you. What do you think about that?_

_I'd like it!_

_Me too._

* * *

_So, Mum, Dad, I have a proposal I thought maybe we could all go over after dinner. I know you've got the parent-teacher conferences tomorrow but I hoped maybe once you both got home we could talk._

_I think you'll like what I have to say._

_And I hope you'll say yes._

_Love,_

_Melody._


	193. May 18, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of May, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I am absolutely seething. In fact I'm so angry Amy insisted on driving us home because she didn't want me behind the wheel.

We got home, I poured us both a drink and stepped outside to cool down for a moment. I'm writing this to you now in short, furious script.

We went to Vickie's conference today and met with her teacher Miss Louton. Everything was polite and pleasant as you please...at least to begin with.

Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Williams.

We're happy to be here. Amy said with a smile.

Before we get started, how is Anthony doing?

He's doing very well in high school, as a matter of fact. I supplied even though it wasn't entirely true. He was doing better but we still had to keep after him about his grades.

He was such a joy to have in class, such a good example to the other children.

We're very proud of him. Both Amy and I said at the same time and then chuckled before I added. Just as we're proud of Vickie. So, how is she doing?

It was at this point, Doctor, that I should have known. There's this sanctamonious little smile people get on their faces beofre they're about to spew something awful. Something they view as fact which they're so eager to condescendingly tell you. I should have known.

Victoria is a very sweet little girl. She's kind, she's giving, she's humble.

I saw Amy's brow furrow ever so slightly but for the most part she kept her features open...just waiting.

However, I'm worried she may be a bit of a disruption to the other students.

Is this about her not raising her hand in class? Amy put in. Sometimes she gets a bit excited about things and the answer is out of her mouth before her hand is fully up.

Oh no, not at all. She's not one to talk out of turn.

Then what it is. I asked. How exactly is my daughter being disruptive?

I watched as Miss Louton tented her fingers and stared at us sympathetically.  _Sympathetically_.

Well, I believe she's a distraction to the other students. They're always hyper aware of what she's doing, what she's saying. When she does raise her hand to speak she draws the focus, as you can imagine, even away from me.

Perhaps the problem then would be  _their_  concentration skills and not our daughter. Amy said sharply. It wasn't any surprise to me, Doctor, that she smelled what was going on here just as well as I did.

Now, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, I'm simply trying to have a reasonable conversation with you about Victoria on behalf of the school and the district.

The district? When exactly did this become a matter for the district? Amy pressed.

There's no reason to get offended.

Isn't there? I suppose we'll see. I said quickly. Since you won't assume any responsibility regarding your control over the other students or their control over themselves, what exactly do you propose?

First let me say you're not the only parents we're speaking to. All parents of ethnic children in this school are being offered the same opportunity.

Opportunity? Amy asked.

We've already taken the liberty of procuring seats for all the children, Victoria included, in a school that might be more suitable to their needs.

You mean a school that isn't this one? A non-integrated school.

I noticed the tightness around Amy's mouth as she spoke.

Perhaps it might be better if Victoria were at a school for her, with her own kind.

I'm sorry, what did you say?

A school that moves at her pace.

At her  _pace_? My daughter is brilliant. Have you even spoken to her? Have you met her? She's known her letters and numbers since she was two. She's been reading since she was three. She is fluent in German-

French. Amy supplied.

My wife taught her French and we're currently working on Latin. She's reading grade levels above her own and...Well, quite frankly I don't believe you could keep pace with her.

By this time the facade had dropped and with it all the smiles from each of us.

Mr. and Mrs. Williams, while we admire your  _progressive_  world views which were no doubt shaped in freewheeling Europe certain ideas don't fly here. Coloured children belong in coloured schools.

For the record, we're both American and we were born and raised here. And as far as where Vickie belongs, the Supreme Court has disagreed with you six years now. Perhaps you'd like to revise that statement.

I don't believe I would. She said tersely. You're only hurting Victoria with this nonsense. You think you can change things, with your high toned ideas and your money. But you're only setting yourself and Victoria up for failure. You can't buy her a station in society that she didn't and will never earn.

I was about to speak though I admit I have no idea what was going to come out. But Amy beat me to it.

I watched my wife rise to her full height, every inch of her the angry mother lion protecting her cub.

That's enough. I won't have you speak my daughters name again. You don't deserve to have her name in your mouth. You are a vile, simple minded, regressive creature.

Amy stepped forward and leaned on the desk before a visibly shaken Miss Louton.

There was a time not so long ago where I would have grabbed you by the collar and cuffed you about the ears until they bled or until my hand tired.

I watched Miss Louton cringe and I assumed it was perhaps the first time she'd ever been physically threatened by parent.

As it is, though, I think you'll get your wish. Our daughter will never set foot in this school again. Rory, we're leaving.

Most of the rest is just sort of an angry blur. Whether or not the teacher said anything as we left I have no recollection. But I do remember growing increasingly infuriated as we walked the halls and out the door to the where we'd parked.

Amy was quiet and cool but for my part I felt a bit out of control. I think...I think my time as a soldier is not so easy to shake as I had once thought. I grew accustomed to expending my anger on a battlefield. Now, when it flared there were times I felt like I might explode. Sensing this Amy took the keys and drove home while I ranted. She agreed with much, if not all of what I said. We could wreak havoc by taking it to the school board. We could go to the newspaper.

We could. Amy said. We could do all of that. But it would be shifting the focus from where it belongs. This isn't the time for retribution. The changing world will sweep the like of Louton away. It doesn't need our help. Vickie does. We have to make this right for her.

She's right of course. I knew that then but still, I'm here, writing this, reliving it, absolutely enraged.

I can't seem to let it go. Why can't I let it go?

I'm going to need to of course. Melody is still waiting inside to talk to us and I wouldn't dare take my foul mood out on her.

I know why I can't let it go. Because of the heartbreak in those letters my youngest daughter wrote to my oldest.

I never really thought of myself as an angry person. Rather someone who was prodded into it. But given the speed that it rises to the surface sometimes...maybe that isn't true.

In any case, now isn't the time for self analyzation. My kids need me.

Love you, Doctor.

I'll probably have more to write later.

Love,

Rory


	194. May 18, 1960 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of May, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I...don't really know how to introduce this. I'm not sure how much of this you're even getting. You never really seemed to pay much attention to things like skin color. You just sort of dip in and out of history, acclimating yourself on the fly. But we're here and as we've known for a long time it's ugly, or it can be ugly. I just didn't want my baby to face that. I knew it would happen, Rory and I just didn't want it to. Tonight we got surprise and we were shown just how naive we were. How silly to not have known sooner that  _both_  daughters had faced it.

Melody and Vickie's letters came as a bit of a shock. Rory and I knew they'd been writing but we didn't know what about. I'm glad she had someone to chat with about this. There was a momentary pang that she hadn't come to me but that was just my own narcissism. My feelings of relief that she hadn't stuffed this down completely washed away any of my own personal regrets.

In truth, Rory and I were feeling sort of helpless. We certainly weren't sending her back to that school but where would we send her? She'd never left home, never been without us. It seemed almost cruel to ship her off to Europe, away from the only home she's ever know. For what? Her own good? Would she see it that way? Or as an adult would it look as though we'd done it for our convenience?

While Rory fumed outside I sat inside ruminating over these thoughts. Melody came into the kitchen and silently put her hand on my shoulder.

Everything alright, mum?

Yes, baby, everything is fine. I said patting her hand.

Is it?

No, I suppose not really. I'm just in the habit of saying it is. How are the kids?

Vickie is fine. I read her a story or three and Tony and I just talked and talked.

About what? I asked with interest.

Oh, lots of things. She began as she sat down. The future. The past. You and dad. His girlfriend.

He's growing up too fast. I said a bit forlornly.

We're all growing up. She said with a smile. Where's Dad?

Here, sorry, sorry I'm late. Right here.

Rory walked in, drink in hand and bent down to give both of us a kiss on the cheek.

How are my girls?

Drinking already, Dad? Melody gently teased. I haven't even started talking yet.

Sorry, darling. Rough day. Rory said before sitting down and taking my hand.

So Mum said. I assume it had to do with Vickie.

That was of course all it took to get either of us going, Doctor.

Vickie's teacher brought us in to discuss what a distraction she is and how it would probably be best to relocate her to another classroom. It's May, the semester will be over soon. Can you even imagine? Racist bint. I imagine it's what sitting down with a very stupid version of Margaret Thatcher would have been like.

I patted Rory's hand as he railed. It's not that I didn't feel the same way. It's just that where it seemed to have energized him with anger it had wearied me.

Rory broke off suddenly. Sorry, I could go on and on but it wouldn't do any good. What is it your wanted to talk to us about, dear? We've been on tenterhooks ever since reading those letters.

Well, everything you just mentioned about Vickie's teacher is actually a good segue. I think we're all in agreement that the school is the last place she needs to be.

No argument here. Rory said with a grimace.

I suppose we could go back to home schooling. I said .We looked into a few all black boarding schools in the South but that seems like sending her into the lions den. I'm not comfortable with it.

Nor I. Rory said quickly.

Have you considered Yardsley Ladies' College?

Of course, but she's too young.

They start taking girls at eight, Dad. Melody said gently.

I know...that's not what I meant. Rory sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She's amazing and dead clever but she's...

I watched as my husband faltered for a moment a look of frustration crossing his features.

I sheltered her. We both did. I thought we could keep her here, teach her everything she needs to know. Just cocoon her until the world takes a few stumbling steps to catch up. But it was naive and stupid and look what it's done. She's been holed up here. She's Daddy's little girl. I didn't prepare her for this world at all.

Daddy's girls don't fare quite so badly as you imagine.  _I'm_  a daddy's girl. Melody said with a smile.

Rory grinned sadly and extended a hand to brush one of her curls behind her ear.

That you are.

But I do agree with you, she's too young to be shipped off to Yardsley just yet. She needs experience, she needs to grow and stretch her wings. She needs to learn to trust herself and her decisions.

I think we're at a bit of a loss as to how to provide that here. I replied.

I think you're right. You can't provide that here. But what if I could?

Rory and I looked at one another in confusion.

What do you mean?

W-what if you let me take her?

Take her where? Rory said before I could.

Everywhere and every-when, for that matter. Melody replied with a nervous smile. Hear me out. I believe, the only way for her to face the world as it is, is to see it as it could be, as it will be. She needs to experience everything this life has to offer. She needs to know that 1960 isn't the sum of human growth. Or maybe she doesn't need to, maybe these things would come in time. But it would take years and hurt and tears and...

I watched as it was now my oldest daughters turn to falter, and she looked so much like her Dad. She pressed her lips together with determination before continuing.

I don't want her to live through that. There just isn't any need, not when we can avoid it. Contrary to popular belief, the only way out isn't through.

Rory and I shared a look and I knew he was thinking as I was, that now was just as good a time as any. We'd discussed Melody's letter over a few late night cups of coffee and there was one thing we needed to know.

Melody, you mentioned in the letters that you understood. We...your Mum and I were wondering was there something we missed? I don't suppose we'd call Leadworth idyllic but, we don't recall-

It's alright. I didn't announce it, you know. I didn't run up a flag every time someone called me a wog. Leadworth could be idyllic in certain times, in certain little corners and places. But in others...it was awful. That anger inside me, that wasn't all Kovarian, I had plenty of my own to spare. I used to look in the mirror sometimes and wonder, Why did I choose this face? I could have been anything, anyone, I could have chosen to look like whoever I wanted. So why that face? On bad days I would get so mad at myself. Things were already so hard and muddled and confusing. So why that face? I never understood then...but maybe now I do. Mels made River. Mels  _was_  River without the good humor about any of it, without the understanding and the mercy. Without the ability to love anything or anyone except the two of you. Mels made River, the two of you made Melody and maybe now, Melody, can help make Vickie. Does that make any sense?

As our daughter had spoken my eyes occasionally drifted over to Rory. I watched his face go through half a dozen looks, Sympathy, pain, anguish for what Melody had gone through. Rage and what had been done to her. For my part my throat felt tight and I didn't even know if what I wanted to say would squeak out.

We are so sorry, baby. We had no idea. You know if we had known anyone had said those things to you, we would have torn them apart.

I know. She said. I know you would have but that's why I didn't tell you. You both had enough on your plates and I didn't want to worry you.

You didn't want to worry us? Rory said with a subdued chuckle. This from the girl who managed to get kicked out of every single pub we ever visited, usually before Amy and I arrived.

I never got kicked out of McNaughties.

That's because he fancied you.

Dad, we're getting off topic.

You should have told us. He stressed. Even if we weren't exactly your parents then we were your best friends. We were there to take care of you, to take care of each other. You shouldn't have had to shoulder that alone.

Melody patiently took both of our hands.

I didn't. I didn't shoulder it alone. You were both there.

Rory and I silently agreed to accept her version of events though we both felt crushingly guilty.

You're talking about a gap year. I said before the silence grew too long.

She nodded enthusiastically.

That's just what I'm talking about. I think it could be so good for her, so good for you all. And the things she could see, the places I could take her. The life she could live, it would be exactly what she needs. Being Mels taught me how to have a thick skin.I want to make sure Vickie has that same thick skin. Melody stressed. And if you trust me with her I think I can make it happen.

Of course we trust you. I said immediately. But how long are we talking about? A full year?

Maybe, perhaps even two. I wouldn't keep her longer than you wanted. She said and I saw her begin to nervously chew her lip again.

But she'll come back older. People will notice. I replied.

Not if you sent her straight away to Yardsley. I can change her birth certificate and any other information with no problem.

We'd miss her. Terribly. Rory said quietly.

It wouldn't have to be more than a few months for you both, Dad. You know how time travel works. It could just be an extended summer vacation of sorts. I promise to have her back long before the holidays. And she can start school in the Mum, Dad, I really think she needs this and I'm pretty sure she wants it.

I think maybe you need it too. Rory said with a quiet smile as he reached forward and squeezed her hand. Amy, do you think we should talk this over?

I thought for a second, pressing my lips together. The idea of Vickie being gone made my heart just ache.I was scared of letting her go, I know Rory was as well. We knew how big the universe was and we knew how dangerous and frightening it could be. We also knew that it could take a toll on you and rip things you needed and wanted and loved right out of your hands. The idea of my only two living daughters, miles and years away made me want to rush to the front door, lock it and throw away the key. But I knew it wouldn't do any good. That wasn't the way to raise them or care for them. That wasn't the way Rory and I wanted to raise either of them. We wanted them to face excitement and danger and adventure. clearheaded and prepared. And as much as I wanted to keep Vickie there with us, even if it meant she was cloistered away, it would be the wrong thing to do.

I don't think we need to talk about it. I said slowly. I think maybe this is the right thing to do. But you must promise us you'll take care of yourselves.

I swear, nothing will happen to Vickie. On my life she will be safe.

That's not what your mother said or what either of us meant. She said, promise you will take care of  _yourselves_. That means  _both_  of you.

Melody smiled and then the smile turned into a beam.

I...yes, of course, both of us.

We don't rank our children, Melody and you are just as important as Vickie. We want you both back here safe and sound, is that understood?

Yes, sir. She said with a nod. Shall we go tell her now?

The excitement in our daughters voice was impossible to ignore. I admit I was a little jealous, two Pond girls headed off on an adventure without their old Mum. But again, this is as it should be.

We called to Vickie, who came speeding out of her room like she has rockets on her feet. I watched as she leaned happily, trustingly against her big sister.

We asked her and of course she said yes.

So that's it then, Doctor. I knew I'd have to let go of my baby at some point but just not quite so soon.

Later that evening in bed with Rory's arms around me it was all I could think about.

We'll have missed all these things in her life. She'll be different when she comes back to us. She'll be a whole year older, maybe two, who's to say. She could almost be 14.

I know. Second thoughts?

Only about 300...but none of them are a good enough reason to go back on my word.

Same here. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited. Rory said and I could hear the smile in his voice in our darkened room.

Which one? I laughed.

Exactly. He replied.

I'm going to miss her.

Which one?

Exactly.

So, Doctor, that's where we are. Only a day or two left with both of them. I wanted to buy Vickie a little bag and a fill it with a few things to take with her. Things to remember us by, things to keep her from being lonely.

I wonder what she'll see.

I wonder where she'll go.

I wonder if she'll meet you.

I suppose you already know, don't you?

Well, no telling me ahead of time, alright?

Spoilers.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love,

Amy


	195. May 25, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

25 of May, 1960

Dear Doctor,

Vickie has been gone for no more than a week and already I find myself missing her more than I thought possible. Amy cried the first night after our daughters blinked away and I admit I got a bit teary myself. Still, no regrets.

Anthony seems a bit down as well. Before they left I overheard a conversation between my two oldest children.

You know this invitation extends to you as well. I promise to have you back so soon your girlfriend won't even know you were gone.

But he shook his head with an emphatic no.

Just take care of Vick. Don't let her get silly and run off. She needs someone looking after her at all times. He said protectively. She's smart but she gets distracted so easy, you know?

Melody nodded with a smile.

I promise, I won't let her out of my sight. We're alright, right? You and me?

'Course! I just...

Just what?

I like to stay close to home. I don't like...being out there.

You're a bit like your grandad, then.

Really? He asked and I could hear the wide eyed wonder in his voice. You've met him?

Mmmhmm, lots of times. He never liked to travel much either. But then something very exciting happened when he was an olderfellow.

What's that?

He met the Doctor. And after that you could barely keep him at home.

I think our family has enough adventurers. He said seriously. Besides, Mom and Dad need me here.

I understand, Tony, I do. I worry about them alot. I didn't want them to join up with Jack. I didn't want them to ever put themselves in danger again.

I thought you would have been all for it.

Hardly. I'm protective of them too, you know. But what I learned is that they're going to do what they feel they need to do. Parents have to live their own lives no matter how afraid we are that they might end up hurt. We just...have to let them go. We have to let them grow up.

I smiled from my place just outside the kitchen entryway unseen by either of them. So this is how they talked when we weren't around.

I guess you're right. Anthony said grudgingly. It just seems like sometimes they don't think things all the way through.

They don't. Melody agreed with a laugh. But trust me, they've gotten a lot better.

You'll always be around, right Melody?

I've no plans of being anywhere else. You write to me and I'll come, ok, no matter what.

I peeked around the corner and saw them embrace and finally decided to give my children their privacy.

The day my daughters left I gave them both what advice and admonitions I thought would be useful. I warned Melody that it's not easy looking after an excitable pre-teen. I warned Vickie to do everything her older sister told her, that as far as she was concerned Melody was acting as a stand-in parent. They nodded solemnly with all the expected, Yes, Dad's. Finally Amy and I both told them to just enjoy this. What was about to happen, what they were about to see was a once in a lifetime experience. Don't waste it. Don't let it pass. Let it shape you. Let it change you. Let it dazzle you. And let it help you appreciate your little home back here on this little blue ball and all the people who love you.

Essentially I told them all the things I wish someone had told Amy and I before we ran off with you. Don't get me wrong, I think we appreciated the experiences but you can always appreciate things more, can't you? You can always breathe a bit deeper, look around a bit more, take one more picture, have one more glance.

I think it's the same way we feel about you. There's not a moment I had with you that I can't recall and still, there are days I feel I squandered our time together. Amy and I have talked about that as well. I don't want Vickie to assume that there will always be another chance like this. It's all so temporary isn't it? It's a terrible display of hubris to assume it isn't.

I could go on but this would just turn into a litany of things I worry about when it comes to my family. think I'll leave it there. Sometimes, there are words you don't want to put to paper.

Goodnight, Doctor.

Love,

Rory

 


	196. May 27, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of May 1960

Dear Bracey,

I am so sorry to hear Dorabella isn't well. It concerns both Rory and I that this feeling of exhaustion has lingered with her for so long. So much so that Rory has offered to fly out to see if there's anything he can do. I'm sure you're seeing a doctor over there but there have been a lot of medical advances in the 63 years between now and where we were living. Just give the word and he says he'll be on the first plane.

I know how scary this can all be but, the Daleks created her, she might be more like you than you think. She might live forever. Rory is also rather handy in light robotics. He had to mend himself a few times over those auton years and he was always helping the Doctor tinker with the TARDIS.

I get letters from Vickie and Melody almost every day. Sometimes they're short, just little things they dash off to keep me from worrying. Time is already moving so fast! From her perspective she'd already been gone three months and her excitement hasn't dimmed in the slightest.

What if she chooses this life? It's not as crazy as it sounds. The Doctor was staunchly against vortex manipulators but I looked them up, and I was always pricing them when we happened to visit a planet with a market or a black market trader. They're pricey, no doubt, but what's a few hundred thousand credits compared to the stars? I'm getting ahead of myself but...I wonder...

I don't want to be the person who limits her children. They can do anything and everything. They can go anywhere, literally. I won't have either of them thinking they have to hang around here to look after us.

If Vickie's future is in the stars, then so be it.

Perhaps a Pond should always be out there in one way or another.

Write back soon, Edwin, I worry about you and Dorabella. I wish you were closer or that we were. Never forget you have a family.

All our love,

Amy and Rory


	197. June 5th, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Edwin Bracewell to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of June 1960

Dear Amy,

Thank you for your lovely and kind words.

As for Rory offering to fly out, as usual, your generosity humbles me. How fortunate we are to have such kind family. Actually, Dorabella is doing a bit better. We don't talk about her diagnosis. We spend our days in happy contemplation, taking walks, singing songs and enjoying our moments together.

You'll note... _I_  have not mentioned her diagnosis. That's purposeful, dearest Amy. I hope for the time being you'll allow me to keep it to myself. There's a part of me that cannot bear to have it in print. I cannot force my hand to write the words. All you need know is that our hopes that my wife might have been like me are dashed. She is human, with all its failings and all its inevitable decay.

Instead of bothering ourselves with that, she and I make a concerted effort to focus on happy things. Pleasant days, my Amy, only pleasant days. Those behind. Those we have left.

Rory needn't come.

But we would like to see you both. I know things tend to be a bit at sixes and sevens with you two, but if you could spare a few days for old friends we would be very appreciative.

If you and Rory are agreeable we shall begin making preparation. Simply give the word.

We should like to seize the opportunity now rather than later.

My sweet Amelia, my constant friend of 18 years. We met so long ago merely by chance. How lucky I am to have you. Especially now.

Love,

Bracey

* * *

**A/N Hi guys, I know I've been gone awhile. You know that thesis I've been talking about for a looooong time now? Well, it's to the point where I actually have to _produce_  something, like really, really, really soon. So a lot of my attention has been focused on that. But I'm still here, planning and plotting and writing when life doesn't get in the way. Oh, and I did something ...I had artwork commissioned for this story from one of my favorite Tumblr artists ever, OddthesunGod. It's just lovely, it's perfect, it's exactly what I wanted. Please visit Odd's tumblr at oddthesungod dot tumblr dot com. I'm also going to add the artwork to the start of the story too but I wanted you guys to see it. **


	198. June 11, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Edwin Bracewell**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of June 1960

Dear Bracey,

You asked that I give the word.

The word is given.

Your family is waiting for you.

As the saying goes, Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway.

Love,

The Ponds


	199. June 6, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of June 1960

Dear Doctor,

Amy needed a break and I sent her off without me tonight to just have some coffee, relax and maybe here a bit of music. There's a club she'd been wanting to check out for awhile called The Lion and it was open mic night. Did you know Amy can sing, Doctor? I told her she should jump up onstage and blow them away. She patted me on the head the way you placate a fool and said, I don't think so, Rory. We both laughed. It was good to see her laugh again and with that I sent her off. With everything going on with Edwin and Dorabella...I just need to see her laugh again.

I would have liked to go along but I was up to my ears in paperwork and had brought home an absurd amount of files from the office. Work still calls and my patients still needed me. A night at home putting order to chaos would actually suit me fine.

The forbidden room was no longer forbidden. We kept it open and unlocked these days unless there were visitors about. Amy and I both occasionally using it for work.

Anthony entered the room rather silently, hovering in the doorway. I had my back to him but I heard the soft scuffing of his shoes, as he debated on what to do.

Tony, what's on your mind, son? I called over my shoulder before turning to smile at him.

Can we talk, Dad? Are you busy?

Never too busy for you. I said motioning him in. Have a seat.

I watched him come into the room. My tiny little boy had shot up into a gangly, handsome, string-bean of a teenager. Long limbs, jeans and a haircut that was a tad more conservative than I would have liked or expected. He seemed to be deciding whether to try and grow a mustache or not and I joked, far out of his earshot, that he was in-between facial hair at the moment. God, I loved him. He already thought I reached for him, hugged him and called him my Little One, far too often. If he only knew how much I held back.

Grabbing a chair he spun it about, sitting down in it backwards.

I wanted to talk about girls, well, one girl in particular.

Janey? I asked. That was his steady girlfriend. She was a sweet little girl and I'd driven them to the movies once or twice. Apparently I'd asked too many questions the last time because Anthony had unleashed an exasperated Daaaaaad! before we'd even gotten there. Amy's vetting process was a bit more strident than mine but again, Janey had passed with flying colors. We'd met her parents and while they fancied us a little bohemian they couldn't help but love Anthony. Everyone loved Anthony.

Yeah. He said with a slightly dreamy smile.

She's nice, friendly, smart and she's certainly pretty.

He nodded but didn't say anything.

Are you sleeping with her? I asked calmly. Or at least I tried to sound calm.

His head jerked up and a flush rose to his cheeks which I couldn't read.

Would you be angry if I was?

Angry? No. Would I rather you wait? God, yes.

How old were you when...?

Eighteen.

Anthony's eyes eyes went wide with what I can only describe as horror.

Eighteen! Why!?

Because your mother and I-

He immediately recoiled.

Nope! This conversation can't have any mentions of Mom, that's just too...

He apparently couldn't even find a word to describe how awful that would be and instead just made a face and shuddered as if someone had walked over his grave. I smiled and continued.

Alright, because me and this red-haired bird I fancied couldn't quite agree on where we stood relationship wise.

Well, what about other girls?

There were no other girls for me.

You didn't date  _anyone_  else?

Nah.

Did you  _want_  to?

I mean...yeah, every now and then.

But you just told them no?

Them who? I said, truly perplexed for a moment.

The girls who were interested in you. He insisted. And Doctor, it was at that moment that I had a blinding revelation. My son thought I was cool. Maybe not now, mind you, but then. He assumed I was some cool bloke who was turning women  _down_. Me. Rory Williams who, at the one official school dance I attended slipped on a streamer and fell into the punch bowl. It made me far more excited than any grown adult male in his 50's had any right to be about something so silly. And still...my boy thinks I'm cool!

Umm, yeah, yes, I just told them no. I said. And yes, I can practically hear you laughing in my head, Doctor. Shut up and let me have this, mate. We let you have your delusion about the bow tie.

Anthony nodded and continued.

What did you do...you know when it just got to be too much.

I looked at my son and grinned. Amy wasn't around and there was no reason not to speak frankly.

Cold shower, you know, one off the wrist. Self flagellation.

He laughed knowingly and I joined him before growing serious again and reluctantly pressing on with my questioning.

So, you didn't answer my question, you know.

We're not sleeping together, Dad. He said softly.

Good. I replied, not really trying to hide my relief.

Good? It doesn't feel... _good_.

I think you're too young. Far, far,  _far_  too young.

I'm 16. He protested.

Yeah and you've  _been_  16 for all of, what, a week and a half?

But you gave me condoms.

I also insist you to wear a seat belt but that doesn't mean I want you to drive headlong into a crash.

Most dads,  _some_ dads would be disappointed.

What? That you hadn't "sealed the deal"? Well those dads are, forgive me for saying so, idiots. Sex isn't what makes you a man, son.

I mean, I know that. But what does?

I recalled having similar conversations with Vitus and there were probably identical words that came out of my mouth when I tried to talk to my own father. We all sort of scratch and claw at manhood, don't we, Doctor? Yes, I include you too. I know, the mighty, lofty Time Lords are beyond some of the things we worry about down here, but you still had questions. You still wondered who you would be, how you would become that man. Who would tell you when you'd reached that goal. You and I talked late into the night about your days at the Academy and how...empty you felt when it was all said and done. Frustrated, restless. It's one of the reasons you left. Maybe in a way, seeking your own version of independence, manhood? We're not so different. Sometimes I think you liked to act like we were because it gave you an excuse not to get too close. But, anyway, Anthony needed an answer.

I think...I think being a man means caring for the people you love, seeing that they're protected and looked after. I think it means being there when people need you, being a good friend, boyfriend, husband, worker. I think being a good man means you stand up for what's right and for people who can't stand up for themselves. I think it means that when you lay your head down at night you can close your eyes knowing you did the best you could today. And knowing you're going to do even better tomorrow. I know one thing for sure, it's not about how many girls you bed. I know you won't believe me, but it's better if you wait. It's always better to wait to be with someone you love.

I  _do_ love her, Dad.

Ok, fair enough. So what's the rush?

The rush is she drives me crazy in all the best ways. When we went to the beach she wore these little tight pants that stopped at her ankles-

Capri's. I filled in for him and then to answer his questioning look I replied. Your mum is really into fashion.

Yeah, capri's, I guess. Anyway, she's all I can think about, like all the time and I mean  _all_  the time, Dad.  _All the_ -

I cut him off with another chuckle.

I got it, son.

And the guys, all the guys at school they're always on me and bragging about what they've done and...

They're lying.

No, Dad, the stories they tell-

Are just that, stories. trust me. That's all blokes do at this age. Read dirty magazines, wank, dream and lie.

So they're not...

Of course they're not. And if they are, they did it once, they did it badly, they did it quickly and it's going to be a very long time before any girl allows them to do it again.

Tony laughed and I could see the relief wash over his face.

If you do decide to do it and let me again stress how  _badly_ I'd like for you to wait, just give it a bit, make sure it's because you want to and she wants to. Not to check off something on some nonexistent form, not because you're too horny to think straight and not because you want to impress your friends and their tosspot imaginations. And speaking of what she wants, I know I've said this before but it bears repeating. If she says, I'm not sure. You stop. If she says, Wait. You stop. If she says, Stop, you stop. If she says, No, you stop. You do not try to convince. You do not wheedle or needle or manipulate or complain or whine or beg or convince or cajole. You stop and you behave with more manners and grace and caring and respect than you ever have in your entire life.

He nodded emphatically as we had addressed this before but I required a bit more for this.

Alright, I'm going to need to hear a Yes, sir, and a Hooah, on that one.

Yes, sir! Hooah, sir! He said with a firm nod.

Good boy. What you need to remember is she has a lot more to lose in this than you do. And quite frankly she's taking a bigger risk. And I'm not just talking about pregnancy. I'm talking about her reputation. And so help me, Anthony if you do it and you boast about it to your friends and it spreads about school, you and I are going to have a conversation that you will find very, very unpleasant. Understood?

Understood.

It's childish, it's tacky, it's mean spirited and it's common. And it's not something you do to someone you claim to love.

Understood, Dad. He emphasized. But...say...say I  _did_  do it. What would she expect?

Again, Vitus had asked the same thing and I smiled at the memory.

She'll expect you to be nice, kind, attentive. patient. She'll expect you to be you. Oh and she'll expect you to be absolute rubbish at it.

She will? He asked indignantly. Why?

Because everyone is dismal their first time. Everyone. And she and her girlfriends have no doubt discussed that. And yes, before you ask, yes, I was rubbish, complete and total rubbish.

Anthony started chuckling and looked away.

What is it? i asked with a smile.

My buddies said, their dad's just walked up to them, clamped a hand on their shoulder and said, You know about girls right? My buddies nodded and then their dads nodded and just walked away. But you, you're so...

Open? Maybe it's because I'm a doctor or maybe I'm just too old to be embarrassed. Maybe it's because I love you and I want you to feel safe coming to talk to me or your mum about anything. And yes, your mum is always here for these matters too. No matter how awkward.

She's a mom she wouldn't understand.

Yeah, you're right, what would she know about any of this, eh? I said giving him a playful shove. Look, Tony, sex is serious, fucking is serious, making love is serious but they're nothing to be afraid of if you're safe and doing it for the right reasons with the right and completely willing person.

You know a lot for a guy whose only been with one chick.

You cheeky little bastard. I said shoving him again. He responded to the horseplay enthusiastically, pushing my hand away and shoving back.

About mom...and I'm not asking for any details or anything-

I'm not offering any.

Good! But um...when did you know you loved her?

When I was seven years old.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Did she love you then?

She loved me as her square best friend. I loved her as the center of my universe.

Dad...why didn't you and Mom have anymore kids after Melody?

Ummm...well, we tried.

Running my hand through my hair I paused before continuing. I supposed he was old enough.

You did have a sister but she was...stillborn. Her name was Adora and she'd be 18 now.

My son looked stricken but before I could reach out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder he put one on mine.

I'm sorry, Dad.

Yeah, me too. But...well, life is just like that sometimes. Sorry that sounded really philosophical and maybe a bit flippant. I didn't mean it that way. I think it's just a way to brush off things that still hurt long after you'd hope they'd stop hurting. Speaking of philosophy. I said in a rush, fleeing from the topic of Adora. You know, there isn't some religious reason behind this? I don't think any deity would strike you down because you had sex with you girlfriend. Just so you're aware.

He nodded before speaking again.

Do you believe in God?

I blinked before replying.

We've moved from sex to religion?

It's a natural progression. He said and then flashed a smile that was so much like Amy's I couldn't quite believe it. Sometimes, the way my son takes after one of us or the other makes me think genetics are nonsense.

I suppose it is.

It's just, I hear what you  _say_ , but sometimes when an ambulance passes I see you make the sign of the cross. Or when we pass by a cemetery you mumble something... Grant...

Grant them eternal peace O Lord.

Yeah, that's it. So what gives?

You must understand, Doctor I had no idea I did this. No idea these little tells still existed within me. Could I conduct a mass by heart, a baptism, the last rites, a funeral? Of course. Did I sometimes imagine, the way other men fantasized about being pulled out of the stadium seats at a baseball game that I might be called to do it someday? In a strange way...yeah. But, I still didn't believe. In a way I believed in the powers of the ritual and the sacraments. I believe in what they bestowed on people who sought them out. But I didn't  _believe_. I had always raised my children to seek truth truth for themselves. If one day one of them decided they wanted to attend a religious ceremony or just learn more, we would have been off and then we would have hit the library on the way home. My beliefs or lack thereof are my own and I made certain not to force my babies in one direction or the other.

Old habits die hard I suppose. I said slowly. I was...involved in the church a very long time ago.

How involved?

I paused. Why shouldn't he know? Yes, he could freak out, again, but maybe, by degrees, we could get through this.

It's a long story- I started to say but he cut me off.

Yeah, I understand, ok. Maybe some other time.

I knew then that I'd put him off before, maybe far too often. I needed to make this right.

But...I'm willing to at least start it. That is if you're free tonight, son?

Am I? He said excitedly.

Good, glad to hear it.

But what about your paperwork and stuff?

It can wait. What say you and I fry up some steak and chips, pop open some cold fizzy drinks and settle in for the evening.

I'd like that, Dad, a lot!

And that's what we did, Doctor. I said to hell with my work and I spent the evening trying to explain my old life to my son. I started with the Pandorica because that for me will always be the genesis. I think it's nucleus for all the changes and struggles and triumphs in my life. The Pandorica, was my crucible, it was my lengthy trial by fire and it purified me and I emerged on the other side of nearly 2000 years a different man. A better man, I like to think.

And so I began...

In the year 2020, far beneath the soil of Cwmtaff in Wales I pushed my best friend out of the way of weapons fire...and I died.

You forget sometimes how ridiculous and silly and beyond belief all this sounds, Doctor until you have to say it out loud. I could barely get a paragraph or two out before Anthony would pepper we with questions, needing clarification. As we went on though they became fewer and far between and he sunk into a rapt and respectful silence that embarrassed me a little. The fact that Amy had cataloged these stories in her tales of Cordelia and the raggedy Doctor at least gave him a jumping off point. I wasn't sure where to stop it for the evening but I chose the point just after you used the vortex manipulator to leave.

...and he left and I drew my sword and I stood guard.

But...for how long? Mom's stories say it was for centuries.

And so it was. I said with a small smile.

His brow furrowed as he tried to understand, really understand what I was saying. It was a lot to deal with. We'd long ago finished our dinner and moved on to dessert and were now just sitting on the couch at each others side.

Shall I go on? I asked him, not wanting to pressure him either way.

After a pause he shook his head.

Not tonight...but, you will go on right? You'll tell me the rest?

Of course, Tony. Anything you'd like to hear I'll tell you.

He broke into a smile and I reached out and pulled him into a hug. At that moment Amy came bustling in excitedly.

Rory, oh my God, you will never guess who I saw tonight. Never in a million years. Barbara Streisand, eighteen years old, she was at The Lion, she won! Her first ever public performance and I was there and she won. I went up to her afterwards and stupidly said, I'm going to love you in Yentl, high five! And she looked at me like I was crazy as was well within her right but I didn't care because-

She'd been chattering nonstop as she entered and only after she'd removed her windbreaker and tossed her keys on the coffee table did she notice Anthony and I slowly pull out of our hug.

Is everything alright? She asked with concern.

Anthony rose with a smile.

Yeah, everything is fine, Mom.

I watched him walk over to his mother and draw her into a hug, perhaps a little tighter than usual. He had gotten rather upset when I'd explained why she needed to be kept safe in the Pandorica in the first place. How and why I'd accidentally...killed her.

Amy smiled with surprise as she hugged him back.

Well this is nice. She said resting her head atop his for a moment. Are you sure you're ok, baby?

I'm fine. He said pulling away after a moment. Dad and I were just talking but I think I'm off to bed. See you guys tomorrow, ok? G'night, mom. G'night, dad...and thanks.

You're always, welcome.

But Dad, we still didn't get to when you were involved with the church. He said quizzically.

We will. I promise.

He nodded and we both watched him head to his room and Amy didn't speak until we heard the click of his door shutting.

Must have been some talk. She said plopping herself down on the couch next to me.

It was. But it was a good one. Started out about sex, segued into God and then on to the Pandorica.

Is he having sex already? She asked the dismay evident in her voice.

Nearly, but we had a reasonable talk about responsibility and...well...I think we can trust him. It's weird you know, they tell you it's called the The Talk. But that implies it only happens once. When in reality it's multiple discussions. It's not like we're done. But I think he and I reached some common ground, we left it in a really good place. He may even hold off for awhile.

Fingers and toes crossed. She said as she leaned against me and I wrapped her in my arms.

You had a nice night? I asked softly.

MmmHmm.

Get your mind off a few things?

For a bit...yeah. But then it all comes piling back on. She shook her head as if to try and rid her mind of the nagging thoughts. So, the Pandorica, eh?

Yeah. I thought it was time.

She was quiet for awhile, so long in fact I thought perhaps she'd wanted, needed to change the subject. But then she spoke and changed my world, yet again, as only Amy could.

I could hear you, you know.

I'm sorry, what? I asked, having no idea what she meant.

When I was in there. Not all the time. Not in a way I understood but...every now and then after I was revived, if that's the proper word, I'd remember bits of things in my mind. Your voice but words I can't understand. Saying things, sometimes angry, sometimes quiet, sometimes just warning. And sometimes I can understand them because you're speaking English and you're talking to me and you're telling me how you miss me and love me...

You weren't conscious in there? I asked in horror. Please tell me, you weren't conscious?

No, no it wasn't like that. My mind could hear you but I didn't remember it until I was out. I can recalls bits of it now and then.

I'm sorry. I said kissing the top of her head, worried about the flotsam and jetsam of 2000 years that she may have picked up.

No, you don't understand. She said, with a smile in her voice. I'm not sorry. When I woke there was the Doctor's message, yeah but around that and through that there was you. Your voice, comforting me, and I knew I was just moments away from seeing you again...somehow.

We didn't say much more after that. I just held her and kissed her and then kissed her again and again before she giggled,stood up, tugged my hand and said;

Care for a little hands-on sex ed?

As I'm a gentleman, a scholar and never one to turn down an educational experience, Doctor, I gladly obliged.

All our love,

Rory


	200. June 17, 1960

_**Just a reminder in case you've forgotten, Churchill referred to his lingering depression as a "black dog" and certain modern biographers speculate he may have been bipolar. He was also a skilled painter and enjoyed the indulging in the pastime for a good deal of his life. Some of his art sold at Sotheby's fairly recently for a great deal of money.** _

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Sir Winston S. Churchill to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

17th of June 1960

Sir Winston Churchill

Chartwell

Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent,

TN16 1PS

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

I have returned from an extended holiday in Greece and though I spent the sum of those days trying to relax a weary mind, body and spirit, I also feel I spent them running. On days where the sun streams through my window, bright, clean and promising I feel I could leap from my bed. My limbs promise an alacrity denied to me for decade upon decade. My mind promises a nimbleness of thought and wit that too often exceeds my grasp. My mood tempts me with a buoyancy I would swear light enough to carry me through a day. Such was my time in the Mediterranean and I found that fancy taking flight to the extent that I toyed with the notion of staying, indefinitely. I was running quite speedily from all the things that so relentlessly pursue me at home. Nearly _out_ running them. Or so it felt.

But I returned and upon my return, there he sits in wait. My black dog. Patient, ever patient and seemingly larger since I left. The Grecian sunlight has not followed me. The lighting here in Charwell is stale and drab, except for one moment, one brief moment that I shall touch upon later. As I step into my house my constant companion is at my side, at my feet, at my heels and I feel compressed, smaller. The throbbing returns to my head, the ache to my heart and I retreat to my bedroom and solitude. He follows, climbs onto the bed and lays heavily upon my feet.

The one place where he cannot follow is my drawing room. I have yet to glean why and in earnest have no interest in delving too deeply. It is here where I find my solace, and earned or unearned my mind quiets, I can breath deep to the lungs, take up my brush and begin to paint. I don't fancy myself an artist but I love the quiet of it all as I love to watch the colors take shape and meaning on the canvas.

Not but a few days ago I 'caught the light'. It was that lovely time, that hazed twilight where the last warmth of the day pours through any window it finds. In this gloaming I started to paint what I imagined our home must look like from the outside on such an early evening.

It is called Chartwell At Dusk and it should be arriving at your home in a few days. As I painted it, I thought of you, my friend and hoped you would feel that soft peaceful glow as I did. May we both bask in that light, you once you see the painting and I from memory. And may we pretend that we are together in some nameless place far from trouble enjoying each others company as you spill all the secrets of the universe.

Write back, dear, Mrs. Pond-Williams. Amuse this old man as only you can.

I eagerly await your reply.

KBO

-Winston S. Churchill 

* * *

_**A/N 200 chapters, I can hardly believe it! Thanks to all of you who have been here since the start, all of you who jumped on in the middle and all you who just recently came aboard. Thank you so, so much! You have no idea how much your kind words mean.** _


	201. Somewhere In The 50th Century

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Amy Pond-Williams, Dr. Rory Williams and Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Some time in the 50th Century to Manhattan, Earth 1960**

Dear Mom and Daddy and Tony,

I miss you all so much! But I'm having such a good time. Last time I wrote, Melody and I were on a real archeological dig! I got my own little space mapped off and I had to take pictures and write down everything I found and just where I found it. Mr. Klomp, he was the man in charge of the dig site and he said I did a really good job. Melody was there with me the whole time.

There are so many different people out here! They look different and act differently, they speak different languages. Sometimes they get along and sometimes they don't but there's just so many. Nobody treats me any different out here. It doesn't matter what I look like. And it makes me think that maybe when I get home things there won't seem so big anymore.

After we left the dig site Melody took me to a hospital which was also a school. She told me once when she'd been sick you and the Doctor had taken her there to get better. She said it was the greatest hospital in the universe. We took a few classes at the school and I even answered a question! The professor wanted everyone to introduce themselves and say where they were from and when I said I was from Earth, 1960 they asked me a whole bunch of stuff and I felt pretty proud. The teacher said I was by far the most interesting person he had ever had to awdit a class. (Is that how that's spelled? Awdit?)

Right now we're with the Doctor. We went back to Melody's house because she had to get something and all of a sudden there was this funny sound. And then this box appeared and then Melody said, "I'll never know if he has the worst timing or the best."

And then that handsome man opened the door.

He said, "Hi honey, I'm home."

And Melody said, "And what sort of time do you call this?"

And he said. "My timing is impeckable." (I'm not sure how you spell that either.)

And then they kissed and after awhile I got bored and I tugged on his coat.

I started to say I'm Vickie-

But he interrupted me and said, "Lady Victoria, I've read all about you." And then he bowed and kissed my hand and said "The Doctor, at your service."

I laughed and told him he was funny.

He said, "That's just what your mum said. And you know what, funny is  _still_  good."

"You're my brother-in-law." I told him in case he didn't know.

"So I am. That makes us family. You know, for a long time I didn't think I wanted a family but after awhile I realised I was very wrong. I'm fairly old to still be getting so many things wrong."

"You don't look old." I told him.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I had a friend named Victoria a very long time ago. She was pretty and clever and brave, just like you. Would you like to see my ship, Vickie?"

But then Melody said his name like she was a little mad at him.

"I promised my parents," She said. "I swore to them I would keep her out of danger. You knew we were going to be here, didn't you?"

"More or less. And I promise we won't go anywhere dangerous. Just a few quick pops around the universe. Cross my hearts."

"But you don't have a ship." I said. "That's just a closet."

"A closet!? Just how American have your parents gotten? If it  _were_  a closet it wouldn't be, it would be a cupboard but since it's neither, it's my ship."

"You talk like the Mad Hatter." I told him and Melody laughed and said. "You're not far off."

The Doctor took my hand and said, "Are you ready to see something amazing?"

Mom, Daddy, his ship, it's so much bigger on the inside! Have you ever seen it? It's just like how you write it in your books and it goes on forever!

I want to write more but Melody said it's bedtime and that she and the Doctor were going to tuck me in. I've got my own room here on the TARDIS! I told the Doctor it feels like home and he liked that and said, "This used to be your parents bedroom. It used to have bunk beds-"

"I've always wanted bunk beds!" I told him.

"That's what I said! Who wouldn't want bunkbeds? Apparently your parents."

I asked the Doctor if he'd tell me a story but he said I probably have much better ones so I'm going to tell  _him_  a story.

I'll write more tomorrow. I promise!

I love all three of you!

Goodnight!

Oh wait, the Doctor told me to tell you to keep writing. I guess he means your stories, Mom. He also said he misses you both.

Goodnight again!

 


	202. July 14, 4943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

14th of July 4943

Dear Mum and Dad,

Just wanted to write to you before bed and assure you we're all safe and sound. As Vickie no doubt told you the Doctor popped round and after extracting from him a very detailed and heartfelt promise that he would keep us all out of danger only then did I agree that we would join him.

So far we've had a marvelous and remarkably non-dangerous, normal; time. Well, as normal as things can be on the TARDIS.

Vickie has taken quite a fancy to him and the feeling is completely mutual. He's downright smitten!

She's cheeky, that one. And brilliant. He said. The Pond tradition continues. Might I meet Anthony, someday?

Oh, Mother, if you could have heard the hope in his voice when he asked that. I know he misses you all but there are times when it's so palpable it hurts my heart.

Anthony isn't much of a traveler, I'm afraid. A trip like this would be a bit much for him to handle, sweetie.

Yes, I remember reading that. A little like his namesake, then. Or rather how he used to be. Are they...?

But he didn't finish the sentence. We never talk about you but we  _always_  talk about you, or around you, just off to the side of you both.

Yes, sweetie, they are. I replied and he gave me a faint smile and nod.

I promise you Vickie will be safe. But I think maybe this is good for her and I know it's good for him. Maybe for all three of us.

Everyone here loves and misses you.

Goodnight, Mum.

Goodnight, Dad.


	203. June 29, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**29 of June, 1960**

Dear Doctor,

It's a stormy, dreary day and I feel heavy with loss.

I didn't write much during Dorabella and Bracey's visit. It was just all too much. Though Rory and I made certain not to let on with them. We planned a bit of excitement for them while they were here, nothing too taxing. We just wanted to make them happy, maybe take their mind off things for a bit.

But I could still see it, that sadness just hanging off of Edwin. That special sadness that comes hand in hand with watching someone slip away, even when they're so lively and by your side.

I don't know what it is to mourn a spouse.

I have a terrible feeling that someday I will.

Rory knows. He mourned me not once but twice.

I remember the weeks after the Two Streams incident. He was so distant. We tried to hide it from you but it was a rough patch for us. It was strange, sometimes he'd cling to me so tight, taking my hand just to hold it. Other times grabbing it to lead me away to some small corner of a planet or the TARDIS just to look at me, touch me, reassure himself I was real. Sometimes he wanted to sneak away to have an unplanned and spirited roll in the hay. Those times were wonderful. But others...sometimes he'd just be so far away.

It took me awhile to realize when I would see him sitting in the kitchen just holding a mug of tea that had long ago gone cold, or sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space what was going on. He was grieving for her.

And I realized I had to  _let_ him grieve. I had to allow Rory to come to grips with the death of his wife who was and wasn't me.

I backed off. I gave him space. I watched as he went through these periods of anger, rage, depression and just...blankness.

Do you want to talk about it? About her? I'd ask.

Nothing to talk about.

You don't have to do that.

She's you. Or she was you. It's silly to...

She wasn't me. She was someone entirely different that you lost. Someone you loved. She was...your wife-

Please, Amy...I can't, I just can't, ok?

And so I let him be.

Not long after that, Doctor, I was standing next to you in the console room when you said,

Rory seems...

Yeah, tell me about it.

He's missing his wife.

Yeah, I believe he is.

Does that bother you?

No, I mean, I understand. He needs time. And don't you go  _talking_  to him or anything, trying to smooth things out. Things are fine or they will be.

Hadn't planned on it, I'm not in the mood to get punched again.

Wait,  _what_?

Nevermind. I had it coming...that and a lot more.

What are you talking about?

Just leave it, Amy.

Though I was sick and tired of every man on that ship telling me, Amy, just leave it I kept my mouth shut.

I never told you... but I knew what you meant about that punch. Rory never told me what happened, after all these years he still hasn't, But I heard your fight.

 _The_ fight.

I had gotten out of bed because Rory wasn't there, I couldn't sleep and I set out to look for him. I heard something I'd never heard before. Raised voices coming from the console room.

First Rory's.

_You're SORRY? Do you think for one instant that makes anything better? THAT YOU'RE SORRY! I don't give a right fuck that you're sorry, mate. And that's even if I believe that you did feel the slightest bit of remorse, which I don't. You calculate and machinate and you plot and you don't give a shit what it does to us. Well we have to live with this, Doctor. You and me because we murdered her. Do you hear me? Look at me when I'm talking to you, you son of a bitch. We murdered her, the both of us. And there is no fancy speech about how she didn't exist, or she was wiped from the universe, or aborted timelines or shenanigans or any of that bullshit that will fix that. Between the two of us we have done in scores of people and here's another body for the pile. From now on, don't look at me, don't speak to me. If it wasn't for Amy I would leave this ship right now. I won't let you turn her or me into you._

Then yours.

_Are we still playing at this, Rory? Your worry about turning into me? I've read the history books, mate. I know what you did. I know the decisions you made, the people you slaughtered. My tally may be higher than yours but you and I are both up to our necks in the blood of the greater good, so don't you condescend to me, boy. We have both worshipped and prayed and asked for forgiveness before the altar of collateral damage. Forgiveness that we will never, ever be granted. This time, we did it together, you're right, you and I, in tandem. We murdered her and we heard her die. We heard Amy Pond's last breath. I live with that every night, my bedroom is crowded with ghosts as I suspect is yours. You should go back there. Now. And you should be grateful you still have a wife to return to._

_You said the ship couldn't handle the paradox but there were two of her before._

_That was different._

_You're lying._

_Possibly._

_You looked her in the eyes. You looked her in the eyes and you slammed the door on her._

_YES! I looked her in the eyes and I sent her to her death and I will likely do it again and again and again. You know who and what I am, Rory. You know the price of admission! The only thing you don't seem to grasp is what you are. And yes, I slammed the door in her face and you never unlocked it._

_My wife was on the other side of that door pleading with you, with us for her life._

_I know! I...remember. Don't think for a second that I don't._

_I am not you. I will not turn into you._

Then, Doctor, you scoffed.

_Turning into me. You **are**  me, Rory. You always have been. Don't you know that by now. Don't you understand? Don't you know that's part of why she wants us bo-_

Your words were cut off by the sound of what I could only assume was Rory's fist connecting with your face. I wanted to run in there and stop it. Every part of me did but for some reason I couldn't. I felt like a coward and...and I was afraid of you both. I had never been afraid of either of you, not really, not like that. It somehow feels shameful to even admit it now.

Instead I waited. I darted back down the hallway as silently as I could before returning a moment later, making certain I was heard so you'd need to break it up. When I arrived the console room was oddly still. You had your back to me , fiddling with the zigzag plotter or some other thing.

Rory just looked confused. He was breathing heavily, cradling his hand delicately, his face a mixture of fury, confusion, regret and loss. Without another word he took my hand and lead me out of the room.

I called your name as he was tugging me away but you answered that you were fine and we should go to bed.

Stupidly, that's what I did. But I remember it, all of it, ever single word.

Things were tense for awhile. A good long while and they were only just starting to smooth out when we went to the nightmare hotel. Did the two of you talk? I can't imagine how you managed to resolve everything but I'm so glad you did. I watched as Rory got better, as he worked his way through what he was feeling as he tried to put it behind him.

I never told either one of you but I felt guilty too. Terribly guilty. She died for me. When we first arrived here and I was at my lowest, I would remind myself of that sometimes. The things she survived, the things she did, the strength she showed, the bravery, right up until the end. She  _died_ for me. The least I could do is live for her.

I've been thinking a lot about things like this lately. What Rory would do without me, what I would do without him. What you and Melody would do without each other. And what poor Bracey will do once Dorabella is gone.

Edwin and I went for a long walk while he was visiting. He asked me if Rory believed in God.

I told him; He thinks he doesn't. But he does. What about you? I asked him.

My memories tell me I was raised on it. But these past few years, truly ever since the war, what faith I've had has faltered. I don't believe that old saying is true, Amy. There are no atheists in foxholes. They may not enter as such, but I think that's precisely where atheists are born.

Once upon a time, Doctor, I asked you who Time Lords prayed to... but you never answered me.

Alright, I should go, I promised I'd write to Winston. He needs me. Everything, everyone seems so downcast and sad and I don't see things brightening for my friends anytime soon.

Take care of my daughters and take care of yourself.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy.

* * *

**A/N I was re-watching "The Girl Who Waited" (one of my favorite episodes) the other day and thinking how neatly it ties up the complicated, horrible story in under an hour. But the truth is, the ramifications of this would resonate for weeks if not months. I think there'd honestly be a tsunami effect. Rory's, frustration and guilt would draw up like the tide until it came thundering back in this furious rush. He would try, initially, in his heart to blame it on the Doctor but the truth is they were both part of this. It was a terrible, awful situation where a miserable decision had to be made and they both made it. We'll never know if the Doctor was lying or not. There were two Amys' in the TARDIS before. If you haven't seen it you can go to youtube or DailyMotion and type in Doctor Who Red Nose Day special "Space" and the second episode is called "Time". It was just a little one off done for a laugh, a mini adventure but no reason for it not to be taken canonically. Long story short Rory drops a thermal coupling, the TARDIS lands in conceptual space and materializes inside of itself. From that second TARDIS emerges a second Amy who then proceeds to flirt with herself. Incidentally this is the source of a good deal of rather entertaining Amy/Amy slash fic, but I digress. My point is that the Doctor really does lie and not just in innocent, clever, madcap ways, but serious, dark ways for his own reasons and own purposes. In my head canon, I think Rory would go through a serious grieving process because of this and I think he and the Doctor might have been at odds for some time between TGWW and The God Complex. I always thought Rory was a bit testy in that episode anyways.**

**Ultimately I think arguing, fighting, often times seriously is what families do and Rory and Amy and the Doctor are a family. Sometimes the arguments are terrible enough that they descend into violence, sometimes they're serious enough that what's broken can't be mended. But if it can, then I think the people draw together even stronger than they were before around that fracture.**

**Ok, that's it, last Chapter for tonight! But I know I've been gone awhile so I figured I'd give you guys something extra since I had you wait a month.**

**Thank you for your patience, your lovely, lovely reviews and for sticking around.**


	204. July 2, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of July, 1960

Dear Doctor,

Glioblastoma. That's the name of the cancerous tumor that is currently eating away at the life of my mates wife. At this point it's a bit smaller than a tennis ball. Completely inoperable, with treatment the survival rate is a little over 2 years. Without, less than 6 months. She's already begun radiation therapy...but hopes are not high.

Shall I tell you the kicker? Do you know what we used to treat this particular type of cancer in the 2020's? A genetically modified version of  _Poliomyelitis_...the polio virus. I'm so frustrated with the state of medicine today. It's too slow. It's all too damn slow and at times I feel like it's stuck in the Dark Ages and I  _lived_ through the Dark Ages so I don't say that lightly.

I reassured Edwin again that should he need me I'm happy to fly out and see to Dorabella's care as best I can. He tutted me and called me a good boy. I'm a good boy in his mid 50's with nearly as many gray strands as blonde. There's not much I can do at this point but when the time comes I am fairly adept at hospice care.

I like to think that I value and treasure Amy every day. That I wake up and glance over at her and feel nothing but overwhelming gratitude that I have this incredible woman. But I could always do better. We could all, always do better. Sometimes I'm grumpy, sometimes I don't want to wake up, sometimes she elbowed me when I was sleeping (you remember what a wild sleeper she is) and I'm irritated. But I love her so much and I don't believe I'd be half as coherent and stalwart as Edwin is if I were going through what he is. I want to make sure she doesn't have a day when she ever doubts it.

She and I just celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary a few days back. We even got breakfast in bed and from the most unlikely of places, Tony. He and I still have almost weekly run-ins, arguing with each other over one thing or another. With school being in recess for summer break I thought things would ease but we always manage to find one thing or another to butt heads about. He won't keep his room tidy, he has to be reminded a minimum of 12 times to empty the bin, he breaks his curfew. Still, there are quiet moment, moments where we just sit and talk and he asks me questions about our life long before Manhattan and I ask him about all the things that go on in the hours he's not with us. I like those times. .

Anyway, he greeted us with a tray full of pancakes and bacon and cinnamon rolls and milk and orange juice and more food than we could ever possibly finish. When I asked him where he'd learned to cook he shyly stated, Melody taught me.

He was incredibly gracious and gentlemanly towards his mother and he and I managed to keep the peace. He even left the house after a bit just to give us some space, which we eagerly made use of.

I'm not sure what she says about me though I do hope it's complimentary but I'll say this, Amy still shags like the girl I broke a bunkbed ladder with so many years ago. Oh yeah...did I never mention that's how we broke the ladder?

All those little cries of Oh Rory...Rory...Rory...Rory! still get me going and reassure me that I've still got it. I've been kind of bracing for a slowdown in certain areas,  _one_ in particular but it hasn't happened. And Amy, I mean, she's tight as a drum, you could bounce a quarter off her arse. Remember how we begged off another trip with you after the gunslinger? Amy said we were starting to look older than our friends? That was a lie. I think we were just a little shaken and needed some time, you know? The truth of the matter is she had just said a few days before how much better we were looking than some of our mates. A little less wear and tear, you know? I was just wondering if it had anything to do with the TARDIS or maybe you...

I'm certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth but considering all we've been through we both just feel great. For that we are truly grateful. Allin all we kept this anniversary pretty low key, we wanted to celebrate but on the other hand didn't feel all that much like celebrating. Mostly we ended up just hanging about the house.

This letter has been all over the place hasn't it? That's kind where my mind is lately, all over the place. Then again, maybe it hasn't. Maybe it's all about aging and life and sex and death and fear and love because all those disparate things are just one big thing.

Can I tell you something? I miss the running. Not just the running, the fighting. I spent years, decades with some sort of weapon in my hand or close at my side. I love healing, I love my practice but I do miss the fight. Running with you and Amy, struggling, battling in Rome or on some battlefield in Europe was an excellent way to clear the head. Everything receded into this sort of secondary fog because survival took precedent. I could use a secondary fog right now.

That sounds stupid, really,  _and_ ungrateful.

What sort of man can't just be content and happy in the life he has?

Look who I'm asking.

Love you, mate.

Talk to you soon.

Love,

Rory

 


	205. July 15, 1960

_**15th of July, 1960** _

**Torchwood One**

**Communique** **to Torchwood Black**

Be advised:

Threat Level: Elevated

Em. Mim.

* * *

_**16th of July, 1960** _

**Torchwood Black**

**Communique to Torchwood One**

Clarify. Em. Mim?

* * *

_**22nd of July, 1960** _

**Torchwood One**

**Communique** **to Torchwood Black**

Expect debriefing by way of Torchwood White.

Please refrain from communicating across non-secure channels.

* * *

**23rd of July, 1960**

**Torchwood Black**

**Communique to Torchwood One**

Bugger off.


	206. August 2, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of August, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I'm more than just a little heartbroken today.

I knew this time would come but that doesn't make it any easier. Yesterday we had to put our darling Spartacus down. He'd been ill for awhile now, slowing down, winding down like a clock. I hadn't mentioned it because it was just a bit too painful to write. But what isn't nowadays.

That lovely, wonderful, funny, silly, sweet dog has been with me, with us, since 1943. Things were still so rough and awful and awkward with Rory and I then. I wasn't sleeping, Rory and I weren't speaking all that much and I would sit late into the night and write to you with the puppy in my lap. Sometimes he'd whine and cry in his sleep and I'd put down my pen and cuddle him against my chest, singing something silly and sweet that only he could hear.

I loved taking him for walks and when he'd take off at a gallop I had to jog just to keep up. We looked after one another and kept each other company while Rory was away at war and more often than not he slept on the bed with me. When we brought Anthony home they took to each other immediately. Hund! He shouted happily and immediately threw his arms around Spartacus' neck. From that night on he slept outside Anthony's door. When Vickie arrived he kept watch by her crib.

In a very important way he was the real start of our family here.

Rory, Tony and I all petted him as the vet gave him the injection that would put him to sleep forever. Rory said a little prayer. Tony held his paw and whispered something in his ear we couldn't hear. It was over so quickly. His little life just snuffed out. I cried, Rory cried, Tony was inconsolable.

Tony, do you know what euthanasia means? Rory asked as he put his arm around both of us. It's Greek, εὐθανασία and it means good death. It means he's not suffering anymore. It means he's at rest. That's what you do for those that you love, you don't allow them to suffer.

Late that evening after we'd said our goodnights I got up and brought Tony into bed with us after we heard him crying in his room. It reminded me so much of his first night here, except there was no Spartacus whining in solidarity desperately wanting to help. I held our son, my little boy...boy, goodness he's nearly a man, against me as he cried and Rory rubbed his back comfortingly. He buried his face against my chest and finally after having exhausted himself fell asleep. We haven't had him with us like this since he was a little boy.

Today is the morning after and I had to write to Vickie to tell her the sad news. I know she'll be devastated as well and I'm glad that you and Melody can be there to comfort her. This brings back memories of when my cat Biggles died when I was 9 and when Rory lost Captain, his German Shepherd at 11. You get better but it's a lie to say you ever get over it. Did you have a pet Doctor? Didn't you mention a dog to me once? K-9? You're so corny. That's an old man joke if I ever heard one.

I miss you. On days like this, weeks like this, months like this, I really miss you. I'm half tempted to ask for another mini-holiday. To grab a nice, blank day from our date book and see if you'll drop by. But you're with our daughters and I want you to tend to and focus on them. Plus, I don't want to waste any of our precious, precious times with you.

We shall soldier on as we always do, right?

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy, Rory, Tony and the late Spartacus who is loved and terribly missed.


	207. August 8, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams to Sir Winston S. Churchill**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Sir Winston Churchill

Chartwell

Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent,

TN16 1PS

8th of August, 1960

My Dearest Winston,

I'm so sorry not for just having been neglectful in writing to you but in having to postpone our visit so often. I long to visit you and see your lovely home in more than just a painting. We've gotten so many comments on Chartwell At Dusk by the way when mates visit. We take it out to the main living area for special occasions but mostly Rory and I keep it hanging in our study as a peaceful and happy reminder of you and our friendship.

Alright, shall I cheer you by stroking your ego? How about I break a slight rule and tell you the many, many things you're honoured with? A champagne. A cigar. A memorial trust. At least 15 schools across the world. A ferry. You're the first commoner to appear on a crown. Buildings. Highways. Statues. And...wait for it, a mountain range. I hope that made you smile.

Never forget your black dog is there because you have bested him before. He's a relentless cur but you are his master as you have shown time and time and time again. You call him to heel. I know a thing or two about depression. When we arrived here I didn't handle it well. I sank far and fast and it wasn't easy to pull myself back up and out of the muck. I know what it feels like. As my best friend would say, I know how it sits in a heart.

I think perhaps when Melody and Vickie return I'll come to see you. I'll be taking our youngest to Yardsley in September and having a proper visit with you would be the perfect way to end a trip I expect to be rather difficult.

Speaking of Vickie she writes to us almost everyday. Or rather we get a letter from her almost everyday. The dates tell me time is passing much more quickly for her. Sometimes she only gets a chance to write once a week or every two weeks. I understand and I envy her a bit. I remember what it was like, being too busy, too excited to even think straight because you were already on to the next, new, wonderful adventure. She is seeing such incredible things, such amazing wonders and I think it's one of the best things that could ever happen to her. I'm just so proud. Nearly a year has passed for her and by the time we get her next letter it will have been even longer.

But who keeps track of time when they're running with the Doctor? I never did.

I know you had a few adventures with him as well. We must trade stories! I'm desperate to hear about a version I've never met before!

Once all the dates have been settled I'll let you know when I'm headed out.

Until then my friend.

KBO

Yours,

Amy


	208. Chapter 208

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Amy Pond-Williams, Dr. Rory Williams and Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: Some time in the 50th Century to Manhattan, Earth 1960**

Dear Mum, Daddy and Tony,

It feels like it's been so long since I've written. I just celebrated my second birthday away from all of you and it was hard. I miss you all so much. We're not always with the Doctor, in fact we have months where we don't see him but today he popped round. He took Melody and I to Diamond Coral Reefs of Kataa Flo Ko. We went scuba diving and had to wear these special goggles because the light that reflects off the diamonds is so bright it can blind you. You lot should see the Doctor in his cozzy! It's hilarious!

Then we went to the Centaurus constellation and we saw a crystallized white dwarf star. I think that's what the Doctor said it was. It's over 4023 kilometers in diameter and it weights 10 billion, trillion, trillion carats!

That must be worth a bazillion dollars! I said as we all looked at it from the TARDIS doors.

Lady Victoria, what is the most abundant mineral on earth?

The Doctor is always in professor mode and he's always quizzing me but I like it.

Come on, this is an easy one.

Feldspar! I said.

Very well done. Now, what's the most abundant gem on earth?

Ummm...I don't know.

Diamonds. One of the most treasured things on earth, so I've been told, is a diamond. They're touted as beautiful, valuable and rare but they're more common than you can imagine. But what about good old feldspar? There aren't any ads on telly saying to save up a few months of your salary to buy her feldspar or Feldspar is forever. Value can't always be measured in money and value can't be measured through other peoples eyes. Is that star worth more or less because it can't be dragged out of the sky and chiseled to bits? Neither. It's just as precious as you believe it is, in your mind and your heart. Never let anyone tell you how valuable something is. Never let anyone else decide the worth of something you hold dear. And never let anyone tell you what  _you're_ worth.

And then he took something out of his coat pocket.

This stone is a bit of Gallifreyan Scarlet Beryl. This ring once belonged to my dau- well, it's yours now. She told me a very, very long time ago that it brought her comfort and happiness and I hope that it does the same for you. It's as common on my planet as a penny is on yours but by comparison humans would find this to be the rarest of rare jewels. It's all about perspective. How you see things and when and what you treasure. Never bother with someone who can't see your worth. Always remember, it's up to you to decide what you treasure. And remember, your old Doctor treasures you.

And then he kissed me on the forehead and said, Happy Birthday, my little Pond. I told him thank you so much and I love you too.

The other day the Doctor and Melody and I were on in New, New, New, New, New York at a restaurant and he ordered and Melody ordered and the waiter said, And for your daughter?

And we all laughed and I said he's not my daddy he's my brother-in-law and that's my sister and I can order for myself.

It's such a pretty ring, Mum and it fits perfectly. I'm never going to take it off.

I had a wonderful birthday but I'm so sad about Spartacus and I feel bad that I wasn't there. Do you think he thought I didn't care about him? I cried a lot when I got the letter but Melody held me in her arms and she told me how sad she was when Captain died and Biggles died. She said she didn't have any pets of her own but she loved them very much and it took her a very long time to feel better. But eventually she did. That made me cry a little less and then the Doctor took us all on safari and I took lots of pictures of animals I've never, ever seen in books. That helped too.

I'm 13 now and I feel quite grown up and I like it here so much.

I asked the Doctor what would it be like to live here all the time and he said, Magic. But then Melody said, don't even think about it but I'm not sure if she was talking to him or me. But I couldn't stay here forever. I miss you all too much. I did ask him if I could ever come back and visit years and years from now and he said, Lady Victoria, it would be my honor.

I think, from your point of view, I'll be back home pretty soon. Melody is really good at keeping track of things like that. She's the one who knew it was my birthday and she says school will be starting up before we know it.

As much as I hate to leave I can't wait to see you, I've missed you all so, so much. Please write back as quickly as you can.

Goodbye for now from the TARDIS!

Love,

Vickie

* * *

**a/n: The white dwarf star I mentioned is real. It was discovered in 2007 and it's called Lucy after the Beatles song "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" but its technical name is BPM 37093.**

**I feel as though there's been a sudden influx of new readers which is just unexpected and wonderful! Welcome to you all and I really hope to not disappoint! Thank you to everyone who keeps reading and leaving loving, encouraging reviews and mentions the story in various places online like Twitter and Tumblr or anywhere else. Keep it up! LOL. But seriously, I just want to make sure you know how much I appreciate you all. Thank you so, so much.**


	209. August 19, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Dear Doctor,

What can I say? It does pay to have connections. And this is one connection we wouldn't have without you.

Amy and I went into a bit of panic when we got this first letter as it seemed like all our plans for Vickie were crumbling.

But then the second one followed fast on its heels.

Thank you, mate. Thank you.

* * *

**Lucretia Sullivan**

**Head Of Admissions**

**Yardsley Ladies College**

**19th of August, 1960**

Dear Doctor and Mrs. Williams,

We at Yardsley wish to thank you for considering us amongst your daughters educational choices.

We have completed our evaluation of applicants for the Fall term of Nineteen hundred and sixty and it is with sincere regret that I must inform you that your daughters application could not be included among our acceptances. To deny admission is an unhappy affair for all involved, both those in charge of the decision and the applicant who is sadly turned away.

We do not doubt Victorias ability to excel nor her academic or intellectual capabilities. We would like to stress that the reasoning behind our decision has nothing to do with her talents or achievements and we do not doubt the contributions she would make to the Yardsley student body. We are simply unable to accept her at this time. We do encourage you to apply for our next term.

We sincerely regret any disappointment this decision may cause.

Best of all possible wishes,

Lucretia Sullivan

Head of Admission

* * *

**Lucretia Sullivan**

**Head Of Admissions**

**Yardsley Ladies College**

**24th of August, 1960**

Dear Doctor and Mrs. William,

I sent this letter to the post as quickly as time would allow however I doubt it will have preceded my initial correspondence which was mailed in error. Please allow me to state we  _do_  indeed have space for Victoria and we would welcome her in the upcoming fall session. It would be dishonest of me to behave as though one particular late arriving reference did not somewhat sway our decision. A letter of recommendation from the former Prime Minister himself is not to be ignored or taken lightly.

Enclosed find all pertinent information regarding tuition, check in day, room assignment etc. etc. We look forward to meeting young Victoria and having her join the ranks of our young cadets. Please accept my sincere apologies for any distress caused by my initial letter.

Sincerely,

Ms. Lucretia Sullivan

Head of Admissions

* * *

So that's that then. It's all settled. Yardsley awaits. I'm happy, I am, I'm just going to miss her. From her letters I suspect you may miss her as well. Has it been nice for you, waking up on so many mornings to your wife and a child who adores you. It's intoxicating, I know. I always knew how badly I wanted to be a dad. But I knew it in this vague way that precedes understanding. I know you and I know that sometimes you need permission, I know that you castigate yourself for being too human...but...it's alright if you pretended a bit, pretended she was yours. More than that, it  _wasn't_  pretend, you were with family, your family, don't forget that.

I'll write to you soon, Doctor.

Love, Rory.


	210. August 22, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of August, 1960

Dear Dad,

I've been trying think about what else you might want to know about me. I don't want to bore you with old war stories. But it's hard to summarize my life, as I imagine you understand.

Everyday I look in the mirror now and I see a face that I recognize and that I'm comfortable and happy with. I smile, my reflection smiles. I grimace and it does the same. We move in unison as it should be. But there were years where I felt as if I was wearing a mask.

I asked the Doctor once if it was difficult, dealing with his regenerations, going from one face to another. After we got his glib and silly response out of the way he told me,

It's difficult to explain, Rory. When it first happens who you were is still inside you. How you thought, how you behaved, how you loved swimming or jelly babies or fresh bedding. But slowly, as you're touching your new face, and cracking your knuckles for the first time and realizing that your shoes are one size too small or your trousers are one size too big that old you is being eaten away, eclipsed and devoured by the new you. Until within a few moments, maybe an hour, when you look back on that man you don't feel a connection to him anymore. It's like looking at a photograph that was taken of you from ages ago. You don't remember the location, the clothes you were wearing, the people you were with, you don't remember what ever it was that you were worried about at that particular moment or what you just had for lunch. You know it's you but you feel little to no understanding of that person. He's a picture in a photo album and you're already on to the next page.

That sounds horrible. I'd said.

That's because in a way...it is. It's always painful waking up with a new face and trying to figure out how to be a new man.

It wouldn't be until years later when I knew what he meant. As an auton, I still looked like me and sounded like me but there was something...off. It started with the whirring. When I moved I would hear this almost imperceptible sound coming from inside me as one mechanism told another mechanism that I wanted to look to the right or pick up a stone or walk ten paces. It was constant and maddening.

Even when I wasn't moving, when I tried to sleep there was this metronome like tick-tick-tick. I think it was essentially my internal clock. I always knew what time it was, down to the second, in fact I still do. That's a weird holdover. It was hard to wake up everyday knowing you're a thing. Not a man, but a thing. Something fashioned to  _look_ like a man like a golem.

Rory but  _not_ Rory.

When I looked at myself in a clear pool of water or a foggy mirror I hated what I saw.

It was as if my reflection was a split second behind my movements. It made me feel sick so I just stopped looking.. And all the while I felt this new man and his new concerns eating away at the old one until I feared there'd be nothing of me left to save even if I managed to save Amy.

I was existing in the uncanny valley. That's the idea that you can actually create robots to look so real, too real in fact that they engender this repulsion in humans. That's how I felt about myself. I was repulsed.

I didn't exactly consider myself a modern man in ancient times. Then as now, each day had to be lived minute by minute, hour by hour. I still remembered things like TV's and microwaves and mobiles. But there were plays, street performers, messengers and slowly the reality of the now replaced my remembered reality of then.

I think Amy believes I made it through relatively unscathed and to some degree she's right, the remaining degrees I keep to myself. I took a spear to my arm once. It pierced right through, shot off some terrible sparks which miraculously no one noticed, likely because it was mid battle. To this day I'm not sure if it hurt because it hurt or if it hurt because I felt that it should. I was left with a gaping wound that was as disturbing to me as it would have been to anyone else.

Living plastic, the Doctor had called me and so I was. Plastic melts. So late that evening as the other men nursed their wounds I nursed mine. I lit a small bundle of twigs and held them near my skin until it began to grow soft, I then molded and smoothed it over the gash as best I could. It didn't look pretty but it worked. I was worried I might wind up malfunctioning, that maybe it had damaged some vital internal workings. But as it turned out I was more resilient than I thought.

I had to do that many, many times over the years that followed and eventually parts of me were a misshapen, hardened mess. Some days I found it revolting. Other days it served as a reminder that in spite of it all I was still alive.

I passed out dead away in the late 1880's. The Doctor said beware of radio waves and he wasn't kidding. I woke up 2 days later in an overcrowded jail cell. They'd picked me up on a public intoxication charge but as I subsequently presented myself as a gentleman they let me go. I had what felt like a headache, at least from what I could remember and from then on I took to sewing copper coins into my clothes to block the waves. There were so many reminders that I wasn't human it's hard to list them all. I never tired, at least not physically, I was never hurt, I never hungered, I pretended to shiver in the winter and I learned that I could manufacture sweat in the heat of high summer. I had to remind myself sometimes to blink because it just wasn't necessary. I could still cry, though. And I did, I wept a great many exhausted, angry, frustrated, frightened tears. It was a relief and a burden that I could still cry.

I thought of you often. Usually during the odds and ends times of the day. When I was teaching Vitus to master horse riding, when I was gently scolding him because he'd put the fear of God into me by doing something mad and dangerous. In other words, you were always on my mind and always on my list of things to set right, Dad. The cracking of our relationship, the distance was never ok with me.

Could you do a favor for me? Spend time with my son. I wish I could be there with you, see what he's become. He likely has grandchildren if not great grandchildren by now. Get to know him. I'm not sure how fast you're reading these letters. I don't know if you're plowing through them one after another after another or perhaps putting them off. Either is fine. But if it's still early days maybe you two are still feeling one another out. May I make a suggestion? Go traveling with him. See if he'd like to tag along with you to some of those marvelous places you were starting to embrace before Amy and I left. Sit down and discover my miraculous boy. In fact, do the same with all my children. I only start with Anthony because my heart worries for him so. I don't feel the same terror just yet for Vickie. Maybe because I still see her a little girl where Anthony is streaking towards manhood. Maybe it's coming but the relief that has settled on my knowing she will soon be out of the tumult of this country is blissful. Make no mistake I don't see Europe as a faultless haven but...well, that's a letter for another time. And Melody, my grown up little Melody. She will need you as well because after we're gone you will be a final and very unique lifeline.

After all these years I know who I am. By the end of my time as an auton I had no fear of looking at my face in the mirror. I have no fear of it now even as I watch myself age. I hope to come to know my son. I know him as a boy, yes, but I want to see what sort of man he'll become. And I think, despite the space between us, I know you, Dad. I know how hard you tried. I know you love me as I love you. Tell that son of mine I love him as well. And tell him next time he comes to bring his sisters along! Have a Pond reunion. Gather my family,  _your_  family around you. Hold them close and dear. Make sure that none of us are ever alone again.

Until next time, Dad.

I love you.

_Filius est pars patris._


	211. August 27, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of August, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I spent the majority of today purchasing party supplies and with Rory's help getting the house ready for the return of our daughters.

I got balloons, streamers, confetti, a few welcome home presents and after everything was arranged and hung I put Rory on cake duty, he bakes, I frost.

It's been hard without them, Doctor, but I know it was the best thing that could have happened. Not to mention I'm so proud to show off our Vickie to you. I'm so proud of her, proud of them both. But you know what? I'm proud of you as well. This whole trip was very generous, very responsible adult of you. I like the idea that there were two Ponds in the TARDIS again. It sounds as though you liked it as well.

Rory and I waited excitedly and Tony made certain to be home and waiting too though it was a battle to keep him away from the cake.

A little after 2pm there was a knock on the door. We all looked at each other because that certainly wasn't the way we expected them to arrive.

Tony got up and a moment later we heard a raucous greeting.

Uncle Jack! Mom, Dad, it's Uncle Jack.

Rory and I shared a glance, surprised but elated that Jack had come by. As you know we've seen him sporadically since '55 but never for very long. Today was turning into a regular homecoming.

Jack entered the living room flanked by an excited Tony while Rory and I stood to embrace our friend.

How are you, mate? Rory asked giving him a tight hug.

Better now that I'm back with you all. He replied clapping him on the back.

Well look what the cat dragged in. I said grinning at him broadly.

Hello, Red. He kissed me on the cheek and held me close. Miss me?

Always.

I can see that. You threw me a party and you had no idea I was even coming. He teased staring at the decoration. But, you spelled my name wrong.

He pointed to the sign that read, Welcome Home, Vickie!

So, where's she been. Summer camp?

Of sorts. Rory said with a smile. Can you stay for awhile?

Yeah, actually, I can. If you don't mind. I mean, I don't expect to just stay here-

No, you'll stay here! Tony said immediately. I'll make up the spare bedroom for you.

It seems as though Tony has the last word so you'll be staying here. Rory said with a laugh.

If it's a bad time for me to be here... He began. You know, family time, I can go.

Hush. You are family. I said touching his arm. Now sit.

He did as he was told and Rory made his way to the fridge and handed him a beer.

We chatted, mostly small talk for the time being but everything stopped at the sound of that tell tale crackle. Then in a flash of light, my family was whole again.

Hello, Mum. They both said at the same time.

I gazed at them and my jaw dropped a bit. Melody, I could see already looked a little bit younger, it was subtle but there, as if spending time with you had enlivened her in the most remarkable of ways.

But Vickie... Rory and I had sent away a delightful, silly 11 year old. Standing before me was a young lady of 13, beautiful, confident and happy.

Of course I immediately burst into tears.

You said she's cry. Vickie said softly to Melody before rushing into my arms. She felt different but the same and it was so good to hold her again.

You're home... I whispered softly into her hair which she was wearing in braids now that were so much like Mels. Did you have a wonderful time? Are you alright? You're so big, my goodness, just look at you. And beautiful, you're so beautiful. What did you see? What did you learn? Tell me everything.

My words came out in a flood but I couldn't think of anyway to slow them down and I didn't want to. I saw Rory sweep Melody up in a bearhug of his own, only pulling back to brush the hair from her face and murmur some fond and fatherly endearments.

I too pulled away only for a moment just to drink Vickie in.

You're all grown up. I said my voice breaking.

Go on, pull the other one. I don't feel any different. Still me, still the same, Mum.

And true enough she flashed me that same Vickie-Smile. Rory came over a second later and picked her up into the air. She of course squealed in delight.

Look at my jitterbug.

I missed you, Daddy. She said wrapping her arms around his neck.

Not half as much as I missed you.

She clung to him as she'd clung to me and I watched as he closed his eyes probably sending a up a prayer of thanks to have her back.

Is it alright if I never let you go? He asked her mostly jokingly.

She didn't answer and instead just wrapped her legs around him resting her head on his shoulder. I darted off for a moment to grab the nearest iPhone and began snapping pictures.

And did I hear mum instead of mom? Have you become more British in your absence? He teased. Vickie only laughed in reply. I could see her drinking him in, drinking us all in. I had worried boring old Manhattan and dull Mum and Dad couldn't possibly compare to the entirety of space and time and you. But it seemed as if we'd been missed and I was so, so happy for that.

When he finally set her on her feet Tony was there looking tentative. We all knew that things like this still set him on edge. No doubt seeing his sister so much older, so changed from their last time together was sending him into an overload. Tony is tall but Vickie had sprouted while she was away.

I guess I can't really play keep away with you anymore can I, Goober?

She smiled and wiped at her eyes which had been teary since she'd arrived.

Stop calling me Goober. She said before hugging him fiercely.

Rory and I watched as Melody said her hello's to Jack who appeared delighted to see her.

Their relationship was a strange one and I feel that she likes him in spite of herself. She thinks of him as a harbinger of danger for Rory and I and it's true his visits are rarely just visits. But I believe she also likes him and trusts him, possible against her better judgment. When he'd found out all those years ago that she was your wife and that she saw you frequently he begged her to take him along. He pleaded his case but she was immovable, bordering on impassive.

_I'm sorry, Jack._

_You don't look sorry._

_It can't work this way._

_Why not?_

_Because it doesn't. This part, all of it, it has to be lived._

_He's trained you well. This Time Lord double talk, pseudo philosophy._

_You'll thank me._

_Oh I really, don't think so._

_You will. I remember it because I was there._

Uncle Jack! Vickie cried running straight into his arms and he embraced her with a chuckle and soon lifted her off her feet. At this point, since arriving home I think she'd spent more time in the air than on the ground!

After a few more moments of Hello's Melody started to speak.

I believe we've had enough tears for now, don't you think? It looks as though Mum and Dad have prepared a nice welcome home dinner so why don't we sit down.

I saw Melody smile at her big sister and immediately start to obey.

Good idea, Melody. She said. Food now and presents later.

Are there presents? I asked.

Do you hear her? Rory asked teasingly. Just the mention of presents and her ears perk up. When we were kids she used to open  _my_ presents on Christmas. She said I was too slow.

I have no recollection of that. I lied with a smile.

Well I remember. She tried to pull the same thing with me. Melody piped up and then we all laughed, all of us, kids included like the weird family we are. I noticed Jack give Rory a look. Still so much we hadn't told him yet.

We sat down and had dinner and the evening and the spotlight was Vickie's. She told us of all her travels with you at times interrupting herself to add a detail she forgot, or to quote you verbatim. On more than one occasion she called you handsome and after the third use of 'whilst' Rory declared, Definitely more British.

Finally after we were all finished stuffing ourselves she declared it Present Time and we all hurried back to the living room.

First, for you, Uncle Jack. Vickie said before handing him a small and delicate looking piece of...something. On one hand it looked like a tiny sculpture but that didn't seem quite right. On the other it might have been some sort of alien plant.

He turned it over in his hands smiling.

Thank you for thinking of me, Vickie it's lovely.

It's from the Doctor.

How can it be from the Doctor. He didn't even know I'd be here today. I didn't know I'd be here today.

Yeah, he did.

How?

Mum wrote about it. Or she will have done. But he told me to tell you to keep it safe and in a while you'll figure out what it is. He said, Tell him to store it with my hand, they can keep one another company.

Vickie shrugged before adding. I don't know what that means.

Well... Jack began looking bemused. Thank you, Doctor.

Tony, this is for you. She said and handed her brother a small white box.

He opened it and pulled out a simple ball chain.

Snake link? He asked with confusion. I mean, not to sound ungrateful but there's not even anything on it. I don't get it.

Again, Vickie just shrugged.

I don't know, Tony. He just said, Tell him to take it with him when he goes.

When I go where?

I dunno. She said again.

Well...in any case, thanks, Doctor. He said with a dubious shake of his head. I watched our son and then looked at Rory then Jack. Each of them were staring at the chain curiously before Tony put it back in its box.

Mum, Daddy, this is for you.

She handed us two small white boxes.

These look like that little message cube the Doctor got in the bubble universe. Rory said.

I turned it around in my hand and nodded with agreement.

Did he leave us a message, Vickie? I asked. How badly I want to hear your voice again, Doctor. It's preserved in my memory but I feel the reel in my head is starting to decay. We have a few messages from you on our voicemail and play them from time to time. But how I'd love to hear you call me Amy, your Amy, again.

But in reply to my question she shook her head.

No, he said he put pictures on there from all our adventures. He said just hold it between your palms and it will activate.

And sure enough it did. Suddenly we saw stills of Melody, Vickie and you, pictures from different worlds and then at times little video clips, almost like those old, what were they called...Vines! Brief little snippets where I could hear your voice and that laugh. I watched you and my daughters in all sorts of acts of bravery and a quick glance to my side told me Rory was just as entranced.

It's a bit like those digital picture frames that your mum liked, Amy. He said, unable to tear his eyes away.

I nodded but stopped as I saw an image of us, the three of us, flash by.

Wait a minute? I asked directing my question to Melody who I thought might be a bit more well informed. I just saw a picture of Rory and I? Is it just you all or...

I trailed off. Melody was wearing a strange look on her face that I couldn't read. But whatever it was she didn't seem all that happy.

Vickie, when did he give you those? She asked.

Before we left. He slipped them in my bag and said they were for Mum and Daddy.

Is something wrong, dear? Rory asked, his brow furrowing in concern. But Melody appeared to snap out of it mustering up a smile.

No, no nothing is wrong, Dad. I just didn't recall those particular gifts, that's all. Sorry, Mum, you were saying?

I just said I saw pictures of Rory and I on here from years and years ago.

Oh yes, it will have our most recent adventures and it's likely he downloaded a few older things as well. The sonic screwdriver records everything, you know. I imagine the range of information on those cubes, the memories, are infinite.

At this point Vickie interrupted.

But he told me I have to make you promise something and that it's very, very important. She said and her face looked so serious.

Ok, what is it?

You have to promise to hold it at least once a day, everyday, no matter what. Do you promise?

I looked at Melody, willing to promise of course, I'm willing to promise you just about anything Doctor but I thought she might have an explanation. But she only looked troubled.

Melody?

Hmm...oh I've no idea. If you'll excuse me for a second.

And then she quickly left the room. Vickie however was undeterred.

You have to promise. She insisted.

Alright, we promise. Rory said and I agreed.

I promise. I assured her.

Satisfied she nodded and a moment after that Rory turned to me.

What's wrong with Melo-

I'll go check. I said quickly, rising and following after her.

I found her sitting on the bed in our room, staring straight ahead.

Everything alright? And I know it isn't so don't lie to me.

Hmm? No, it's fine. Everything is fine. I think maybe its all the excitement of being back home, you know?

The excitement? Shall I fetch your smelling salts? I teased. Since when does excitement give you the vapors?

She shrugged.

I don't know...can't I just be happy and emotional about being home? She asked in a small voice I rarely heard her use.

Yes, yes of course you can, baby.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my arm around her shoulders.

Are you alright? I asked.

Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. How are you feeling, Mum?

Fine, I feel wonderful. Do I not look alright?

No, you look wonderful. And Dad?

Dad's fine too, everybody is as fit as a fiddle.

She nodded.

I worry about the two of you so.

Melody, remember years and years ago when I used to say we're fine, we're coping. Well, we're done with coping. We're wonderful. Look at my children, look at the three of you, what you've done, what you're going to do. My husband saving lives and being the best father I've ever known. My son-in-law, out saving the universe. And me, silly, little me, writing things that people actually read. What on earth do I have to be sad about?

She nodded again but still looked troubled and unconvinced.

And I haven't thanked you for bringing Vickie and yourself back here in one piece. Did you wind up with any gray hairs, caring for an excitable pre-teen? I asked her and finally she smiled.

My goodness but was she full of energy. Somedays I didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse having the Doctor there. On one hand he never tires just like she doesn't but on the other he had this way of just winding her up. I had to institute a bedtime for both of them!

I laughed and pressed my cheek against hers.

I'm so sorry! I did warn you, though.

You did indeed but nothing quite prepares one. Running after them both, heavens!

Turned you off having kids?

She paused.

I wouldn't say that. Melody said slowly. The Doctor and I had a rather interesting conversation.

Tell me! I said excitedly.

Not just yet, Mum. It was only moments ago for me. It was just as we were about to leave the ship. He was quite teary. He and Vickie had a very long, very quiet, very solemn goodbye. It was like watching children swear a little oath to one another, those deep important promises you make to someone when you're a child. I don't know what they said. It wasn't for me to know, but it affected him, quite deeply. He took me aside and we had a very brief and very important conversation of our own. Just let me mull it over a little, ok?

Of course, Melody, of course. I said barely able to contain my excitement.

He can be so frustrating one moment and then the next so sweet but then swiftly following on the heels of that...

She trailed off and the furrow returned to her brow.

Come on. I said squeezing her shoulder. Let's go have some more cake!

She smiled at me and together we rose to return to the living room.

Oh Doctor, did you finally agree? Did you finally decide to give it a go? Please say the answer is yes! Well, no matter, I suppose I'll find out soon. Thank you for the gifts. Thank you for looking after my girls. Thank you for being part of my family.

Well, I'm exhausted, my love. Rory and Jack are somehow still going strong but I'm off to bed. I can hear them softly talking in the backyard. Jack is staying with us for a bit as is Melody. I could tell Vickie was thoroughly tuckered out but when I went to tell her goodnight I found she and Anthony talking seriously in her bedroom. I kissed them both, told her how happy I was to finally have her home and left them to it. I have a full house and I couldn't be happier.

I must admit...I'm a bit sad you didn't write us something. I was hoping for maybe a note from you, just a handwritten hello of some sort. But I understand.

We love you, Doctor. Sweet dreams.

Love always,

Your Ponds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...I snuck in a lot of important stuff in this chapter. Really important stuff that totally just hemmed me into a corner and made things that I hadn't quite decided on doing yet, rather carved in stone. Well, no going back now unless I get super creative. Allons-y!


	212. August 27, 1960 (River)

_**Curators Historical Footnote: The following correspondence was sent via an archaic method of subversive communication known as "Underlay". Underlay involves one layer of text being hidden beneath another layer. Doctor Song contacted the Doctor using Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams' diary. The page upon which the former wrote would appear blank to the latter allowing for the clandestine transmission of said message to the Doctor.** _

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Time Delayed: From Doctor River Song/Melody Pond to the Doctor**   
**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Doctor **,**

What the hell was that?

And trust me, now is not the time to act coy. I'm in no mood.

You purposefully hid this from me. Why? Do you know something? Is something going to happen to them?

I'll be expecting an explanation next time you pop round which had best be soon.

Do. Not. Make. Me. Track. You. Down.

You would find that most unpleasant.

-River


	213. August 30th, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

30th of August, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I'll come right out and say, I don't like the chain you gave to Tony. I don't even know what it's for so I suppose what I really don't like is what it represents. I know what it means. I know that it seems to imply there's no escape from it but I'm still going to try. I would bend and break time and space apart for my son and if that meant going to Danang myself in his place I would do it. Tony seems rather unaffected by it all and I haven't figured out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I haven't figured out a lot of stuff yet.

After kissing my daughters, son and wife goodnight I hunkered down with Jack in the backyard and poured us both a glass of Scotch courtesy of Churchill himself.

So, is now the time we talk about the Torchwood-y reasons that brings you here? I asked him.

No, not yet. It's pressing but not that pressing.

Been keeping yourself busy?

You could say that. Jack replied with a smile before taking a drink.

You don't come round much.

Why, Rory, are you saying you miss me?

Yes. I replied simply. I know you're more comfortable with glib answers and word play, but yes, I do miss you. So does Amy and of course the kids.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gazing upwards at the night sky.

My reasons for not visiting so often sound perfectly reasonable in my head and selfish and stupid when said out loud.

I'm listening.

When it's time to go...it's not easy to leave you all.

Funny, Melody says the same thing. I think that's how the Doctor feels... _felt_ too.

When were you last on assignment? He'd asked quickly changing the subject.

I was in Corsica in February. Amy was in Madrid in early March. Pretty quick trips for both of us, mine just involved a city that had vanished suddenly, hers was a town where all the well water had been replaced by something that appeared to be blood.

Jack looked vaguely interested.

What was it? He asked but I stretched and took a drink.

Well, long story short the city was still there, it had just been moved and the blood wasn't blood at all. But let's not talk shop.

Fair enough. Do you smoke, Rory?

Cigs? Never really developed a taste for it.

I was going to offer you a spliff.

Oh God, Amy would kill me.

If you took a few hits?

No, if I took a few hits  _without_ her. I said quickly.

Jack laughed and I motioned for him to go ahead if he wanted to. Everyone was fast asleep, there was a brisk breeze and I couldn't see the harm. He took out the joint, lit it and took a drag.

You know, I didn't peg you as the type. He said after a long exhale.

Oh, was the offer meant to scandalize me?

Maybe a little.

Amy and I went through a very brief phase and all because Mels sprained her ankle running from a security guard after she shoplifted a few iPods. Anyways she still outran him and managed to chuck the iPods but she wound up with an ASBO anyway and had to lie low for a bit. So, because we didn't want to go to down the pub without her, we all just sort of hung out in my bedroom. To stave off boredom she brought some of the most amazing pot with her I have ever sampled and I'm including what was coming out of East Asia in the very early AD's. To this day I'm convinced it was somehow other-worldly but I'm not sure how she managed that. I had to be talked into it, Amy not so much but eventually I relented just because I didn't want to be left out of the fun. In any case, the three of us spent an absolutely scandalous week just getting high and eating. The pot never ran out either, it was like the fish and the loaves. Blessed are the high for they will completely lose their train of thought and have to start again.

I laughed and Jack laughed with me. I'm sure you disapprove of drug use, Doctor and I'm sorry if any of this shocks you. But it was a very long time ago and it's also a very good memory for me.

So Mels that's...

Our best mate from when we were kids. I said taking my phone from my pocket. I flipped through the albums until I came to the one just titled Leadworth Kids. Handing it to him I showed him a picture of Mels, Amy and me from when we were about 16.

He took the phone and smiled.

Yeah, Mels was a good egg. I said with a sad smile. Absolutely mad and complete trouble but she was ours.

So what happened to Mels?

She...oh, I'm sorry, I thought she would have told you. Mels is Melody...River.

I haven't yet had enough of this to make me understand what you just said.

I sighed and then chuckled and then reached for the joint.

Ok, change of plans. I said taking a quick drag and holding it in for a bit. I think it's finally time to catch you up. I'd say lets start from the beginning but I'm not really sure where the beginning is.

So as the night wore on and the spliff wore down I told him. I told him everything about you and me and Amy and Melody, space and time life and death and everything beyond.

Jack would occasionally interject to ask a question.

So she's a Timelord?

Not exactly.

So you weren't human? You were a robot?

Not exactly.

But I didn't answer everything he asked with vagaries.

So, what about meeting up with a Doctor from now? He asked.

Wouldn't be the same, he wouldn't know us. He'd be a completely different man. I'm sure he's around...but he's not our Doctor. My Doctor. Melody is the only one who really has all of him, you know. Every incarnation, every quirk, every adventure. I'm just ever so slightly jealous of my daughter for that but terribly happy for her as well. What about you, why not go find a younger version of him, see if he'll help you?

Same reason I suppose. Well, there's another reason...and don't laugh.

I make absolutely no promises.

A little girl...who I'm not sure was a little girl at all come to think of it. She read my fortune, with Tarot cards and she said, the century will turn twice before the one I'm looking for reappears. Something about her language, very specific. The  _one_  I'm looking for. Now that's not to say I haven't tried. I saw that police box, more than half a dozen times over the years. A couple times I made eye contact with him. I started running at him, calling his name and he'd get this...look.

What look?

Like he knew that whatever I was bringing him was trouble and he wasn't interested. Not just yet. It was like he knew he would know me but he had no interest in speeding up that moment. And he'd disappear into that box. I promised myself, the next time I saw it, that big blue bastard, I'm just going to jump onto the sonofabitch and hang on for dear life.

I don't think that's a good idea. Can a human survive in the Time Vortex.

Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right?

I smiled and nodded. The pot was good and I felt warm and relaxed. Both of us had far looser tongues than normal.

Are you still as cross with him as you were? I asked.

I tried to hold onto it. I really, really did. But then you and Amy had to come along and screw it all up.

Did we?

Yeah, with your stories and your jokes and your affection for him. River's just the icing on the cake. I'm still angry but it's different now. Now the scales have tilted more towards me just wanting answers than wanting to belt him.

What do you want to ask him or tell him? What are you going to do when you meet him.

You know...I don't know, exactly. No...that's a lie. I do know. I'm going to tell him the truth...maybe.

Which is?

That he's one of the best men I've ever met. That he made me want to be better and then before I quite got the hang of it he left me. It is a struggle every day to attempt to live up to the ideals he put in my head. But I'm trying.

I smiled at him and reached out to touch his shoulder.

We're all trying. I said. Trust me, I understand.

I think you may be one of the few people that does.

We were silent for a moment before I spoke again.

So, what about life before the Doctor? B.D. as it were.

He answered, but I don't believe I'll write this part though, Doctor. Every man has a right to tell his own story in his own time and his own way. We're all stories at the end of it all, don't you think? And we should own that if we own nothing else.

You know...I used to have this theory about you and Amy but once I met River and found out who she was to you and the Doctor I threw it out the window.

Oh yeah, what was that?

It's...it's nothing...it's stupid.

Tell me, mate.

I thought maybe you and Amy and he had a thing.

A thing? I asked playing dumb because this was just a bit too much fun and I was just a bit too high.

You know...a  _thing_ , that started on the TARDIS.

Oh, a  _thing._

Yeah, you said something awhile back. Something about it being a little sordid.

Well...once upon a time in a little wintry corner of the universe we three had the briefest of affairs.

You're kidding?

I am not. But don't tell him when you meet him again, Let it be a surprise. It's more fun that way.

I have to say,  _you_ are full of surprises.

You don't know the half of it, trust me. In any case, he was lonely, as he often was and he needed us and we needed him.

I turned to Jack to gaze at him pointedly.

It's not good to be alone, Jack. Look, you're stuck here, just like Amy and I. And like Amy and I you have a departure date, albeit a different sort. Don't waste this time. You have at least 40 years until you see the Doctor again. You can find some happiness and peace in that time. Trust me, this is something I had to come to grips with and understand. But it's something I know.

He was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Finally he spoke.

I'm glad I met you, Major.

I'm glad I met you too, Captain.

We're not even halfway through all your stories, are we?

Not even 1/8 of the way through.

I look forward to the rest.

He and I spent a bit more time talking, laughing and shushing each other so as not to wake the rest of the house. We eventually decided to call it a night a bit past 3 am but not before I asked him a question.

Jack, the Torchwood message we got, I assume it's part of the reason why you're here...is it bad?

Yeah...it's bad.

I nodded and gave him a clap on the back before we each returned to our respective bedrooms. I crawled silently into bed with Amy and she mumbled a sleepy and mostly unconscious; Rory.

Go back to sleep, baby.

'kay...

There was a pause and just as I was settling down I felt a painful pinch on my forearm.

You're munted! She exclaimed.

I am not...! I said with an unconvincing stammer.

You reek of pot and you didn't even call me! That exclamation was followed by another pinch.

I told Jack this would happen.

You've always been a pot hog, Rory Williams. She said too drowsy to keep up her irritation. It didn't matter anyway, I could hear the smile in her voice and even in the darkness see it playing at the corner of her lips.

I'm sorry, Amy. But my shirt is probably so saturated you could likely light it on fire and get a nice buzz. I teased.

Shut up, Rory.

I'm sure you'll get a pleasant contact high just from what was captured in my hair over the course of the evening.

She giggled.

Shut  _up_ , Rory.

I love you, Amy. I said kissing her shoulder.

Love you too. It's nice to have everybody home.

Yeah, it is. Get some rest.

'kay.

This was a few days ago Doctor and I likely left out a bit here and there but you get the gist. I still don't know what Jack and Torchwood want and I suppose I'm in no great hurry to find out. Speaking of being in no hurry, do you remember seeing him, Jack, I mean, when you were younger? Do you remember running from him? I wonder, would you run from us?

I'd rather not think about it.

Love you, Doctor.

Love, Rory

* * *

**A/N: There seems to be some division on what constitutes a spliff. Some people say it's just a plain old joint, other people say it's a joint with tobacco mixed in. It seems to vary by region. For the sake of this story, it's pot.**


	214. August 31, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Sir Winston S. Churchill to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Sir Winston Churchill

Chartwell

Mapleton Road, Westerham, Kent,

TN16 1PS

31st of August 1960

My Dear Amy,

The only thanks I require for penning that letter is the pleasure of your company. How delighted I am to know that I will see you so soon. I've just returned from a cruise on the  _Christina_ , Ari Onassis' yacht. I believe it did wonders for my health and the quiet time amongst good friends was invaluable.

I am elated that I will finally after these many years get to see both you and your famous daughters!

Chartwell eagerly awaits your arrival and so do I.

-Winston S. Churchill


	215. September 2, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of September

Dear Doctor,

It's not long before Vickie leaves us and I wanted a bit of Daddy-Daughter time with her before we send her off into the big bad world.

I'm not the only one. Everyone has wanted a piece of her since she got back home. She's spent hours chattering away on the phone with friends as they rehash their summer holidays. Of course she hasn't been able to see them. Her growth spurt is a bit more noticeable than can be believed so she's made up a few excuses as to why a visit can happen. She's also had to re-work most if not all of her exploits with you and Melody and overhearing her I can't help but be singularly impressed by her cool head and quick thinking.

My daughter was just able to summarize what I'm certain was a trip to the Tarkesian Moon of Dunnis Kyriea with it's vented and domed volcanoes, purple sand and singing fish, down to; We spent some time at the beach.

She never fails to impress me.

Hoping to find her with a free spot in her schedule I approached her as she was chatting with Jack in the lounge chairs outside. I recognized the dreamy look on her face as she listened to him talk with her chin propped against her fist. Why hadn't I realized she had a crush on him until now? It was cute and harmless and I watched him regale with a tale of his swashbucklery before interrupting.

Jitterbug?

Hi, Daddy!

Do you think you could fit your old man in for a bit of time today? Say dinner and a surprise night on the town?

A date? Yeah! That would be swell!

Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?

I don't care, Daddy, as long as it's with you. We could just get a cheese sandwich at the diner. It doesn't matter.

I think we can do a bit better than a cheese sandwich today.

I wanted to take my daughter to The Stork Club or 21 or the St. Regis or The Waldorf, but their arbitrarily applied segregation policies were something Amy and I couldn't and wouldn't abide by. Vickie and I could have gotten in. A reservation in my wife's name due to her popularity as a writer made her just posh enough to book a table. But I had no desire to throw money at a place who would have no problem turning my daughter away were she alone.

What about MoMA? She piped up.

I think that's an excellent choice, darling. MoMA it is.

But for the surprise afterwards, what kind of clothes should I wear?

Hmmm...well, you look beautiful in everything but if you're taking suggestions, I think your purple dress is lovely.

Daddy, that's from when I was little, I can't fit into that anymore!

Of course. I said, but the truth is I'd forgotten. She was growing up, had grown up in those two years without her. And here I was just about to lose her again.

Melody bought me a mood dress when we were on Kelos Three. It changes depending on how I feel! Who knows what color it will be! Jack, will you be here when we get back?

Of course I will, Vickie, I want to hear all about it.

Daddy, when can we leave?

As soon as you want to, baby.

With that, Vickie jumped up from her seat, gave Jack a swift kiss on the cheek and darted off.

Both Jack and I watched her go and I caught the wistful...sad look in his eyes.

I had a little girl once. He said quietly.

I opened my mouth to speak to him but couldn't quite find the words.

Sixth cholera pandemic. He said shortly...painfully. She and her mother gone, just like that. A warm June day in 1910. Frances and Josephine Ruby Harkness. I tried settling down, Rory...it didn't work out so well. I'm not so eager to try again.

Silently he stood and walked back inside the house. Did you know that, Doctor? Or are you just as surprised as I am. I'm going to see if he wants to talk about it later.

Fast forward a few hours and Vickie and I found ourselves moving from Picasso to Matisse to Khalo to de Kooning and Cezane on and on and all for an admission fee of 95 cents for me and 35 for her. Vickie loved a museum and she never got tired. She was always grabbing my hand and pulling me from one exhibit to another and another and another.

Daddy, what's your favorite painting?

Goodness, it's a bit hard for me to choose. I used to work in a museum a long, long time ago.

You did? I never knew that.

Yes, when I was a young man. I was a security guard so I had a few favorites I used to walk past now and then on my rounds. I quite fancied  _The Concert_ , by Vermeer,  _Storm on the Sea of Galilee_  by Rembrandt,  _Nativity with San Lorenzo and San Francesco_  by Caravaggio. But my favorite painting is  _Women Picking Olives_  by Van Gogh. It always reminded of me of Rome, working on my farm and watching my daughter in law and granddaughters as they gathered the fruit readying it for the mill or the press.

She gazed at me for a moment.

Will you tell me all your stories one day, Daddy?

All of them? Well that's quite a bit. You might find it boring.

You could never be boring.

Come on, baby, there's still so much for us to see here.

I took her around, dropping bits of information and trivia here and there when I had it, about this piece or that one. Finally to give our feet a rest we set off for an early dinner.

So... I began. Are you very excited about school?

Yeah...and no. I'm scared. What if it's like it was here?

Well...I can't guarantee it will be perfect, but I really do believe it will be better for you. You mum and I searched and thought and planned and we think we made the best choice. But, and hear this, ok? If it's terrible, if you stick it out as best you can but you can't manage, if you're terribly unhappy you can always, always come home. And from there we'll figure something else out, ok?

Relief flooded her face.

Really?

Really. Your mum or I or Melody or Jack or Uncle Edwin will come get you. I promise.

That makes me feel a lot better.

I thought it might. I know you're not a quitter and I know you always do your best. But you'll find no judgment or shame here if you decide you need to some home. But...I think you're going to have a lot of fun and a lot of new experiences. I think you're going to enjoy yourself and I hope that come the holidays you're still going to want to come home to boring old Manhattan and dull old Mum and Dad.

Always, Daddy.

Now, as for boys-

Daddy!

Terrible, all of them. Best to just stay away from them completely.

The Doctor said boys are only after one thing. But then he said he didn't know what that thing was.

I had to chuckle at that. You're such a liar, Doctor.

Well...that's one way to look at it. But in all seriousness, I imagine you'll be going out on group dates soon and from there moving on to solo dates though house rules still apply whether you're living with us or not. No one-on-one dates until you're 15. That was the rule for Tony and it is applied unilaterally across the board. Let it never be said that I treat my daughter differently than I treat my son.

15? She said with a distinctive and disappointed whine. But that's two whole years away!

It is indeed and it's still too soon for my taste. You have so much ahead of you. So many wonderful things this world is going to show you and that's not counting the things you saw off this world. This is an amazing time to be alive and I want you to experience the best of it. Does that make sense?

Yeah, it does.

There's just...things coming...changes that are going to very hard and harsh but they  _will_ change things. I just don't think you need to be a part of it. It wouldn't usher it in any sooner. And you being some place a bit safer won't delay it. There's something about all of this...it's real of course, but it's also a play. History will unfold as it must, because it has to, because it always has. There's no reason for you or Tony to play a part when the act is already over and the players have left.

I don't understand.

I know you don't. Of course you don't. You will, some day. Just promise me, you'll stay safe.

I watched as her eyes drifted to the long scar on my arm. I'd taken a tumble on Ayers Rock in the Australian Outback while doing an investigation into the myths surrounding the Uluru curse. I'd sliced my arm up pretty badly back then. The scar was now old and if I ran my fingers across it the skin registered no sensation. All I felt were the hills and valleys from where the jagged flesh had pieced itself together again. I rarely even thought about it or any of the other scars that peppered the landscape of my body. But I suppose Vickie did.

Promise me  _you'll_ stay safe.

I put my hand to her cheek again.

I promise I will stay as safe as I can.

You're not going to die are you, Daddy?

Whoa, where's this death talk coming from?

She shrugged in reply.

I dunno. It's just something I was thinking about.

I took a deep breath before speaking.

Once upon a time that was actually something I  _could_ promise you. But...you deserve the truth now and not pretty lies. One day I  _am_ going to die and there isn't anything that can be done to stop that. And it won't be anyone's fault. And you know what else?

What? She asked, her chin wobbling.

It isn't anything we need to worry about right now? Ok? I intend to be around for a very, very long time, alright?

Alright. She said in a small little voice.

Rising from the table I went over to her, knelt down and pulled her into my arms.

I think you worry too much. I said. I think you get that from me. I used to be just like that. A bit too afraid of what might happen to make a move. But I was so proud of you for going off with the Doctor. That isn't something I would have ever had the courage to do at your age. I barely had the courage at 21. You can't spend your life worrying about what may happen or who or what you might lose. You have to promise me something else. Promise me that you're going to embrace this experience and live, alright? There's not a moment to waste.

A few tears rolled down her cheeks but she smiled at me as I kissed her forehead.

I promise.

Good girl. Now you haven't even asked about your surprise.

I watched as some of the clouds left her face.

I forgot about it.

I can tell. Well what would you say if I told you that you and I were going to see Mary Martin in The Sound of Music?

The best way I can think to write her response, Doctor is just a very long and excited EEEeeeeeeeeeeeee! which caught the attention of quite a few of our fellow patrons. So that's what we did. We finished up dinner and caught a cab to the show. As we sat in the audience I kept glancing at her and smiling, watching her lips move as she silently sang along. Amy and I had given her the Blu-ray of the film years earlier and had been promising for awhile to take her to the live stage production.

We had a wonderful time and I surprised her once we got home with the vinyl cast recording that she could take with her when she went to school. It's going to be odd for her I imagine. Being without some of the creature comforts of home. Just to make certain the kids weren't weird we did limit their exposure to a lot of our modern tech. That isn't to say we hadn't bent the rules in certain instances, mostly involving media and entertainment. Though our children did tend to have some of the most well researched school papers you could imagine with a little help from online resources. I still took them to the library when they wanted but we also let them browse Amazon from time to time to pick out a book to download for special occasions. Maybe we shouldn't have, but they're both so bright. I've never heard them slip up. We do monitor what they look at though. I never thought I'd be one of those parents who blocked off certain internet sites, but I am. We're not so concerned with adult content, though we do filter that, but more so with accidentally having something from the not so far off future revealed to them. They should be able to take things one day at a time just like anyone else. I want that for them. I need it for them.

I suppose that's all for now. It was a long, busy, fun and emotional day. Tomorrow I believe Amy and Melody are taking her out. Not long after that we'll throw her a goodbye party. I think she'll like Europe. I hope she'll come to think of it as a second home.

It is going to be so hard to say goodbye.

Chat with you later, Doctor.

Love,

Rory

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I double checked and the place where the Pandorica was housed was called the National Museum. The location of "Gallifrey Falls No More" and the Under Gallery in The Day of the Doctor is the National Gallery. Now, I looked and there doesn't seem to be a National Museum in London. I suppose they just made it up for the show but correct me if I'm wrong. So, while initially disappointed, I saw this as a great excuse to fill it with art and artifacts that are lost to us.
> 
> Oh and I've never been the the Museum Of Modern Art (MoMA) so I had to search through some old information to find out what they used to charge and also to get an idea of what may have been in their permanent collection at the time.
> 
> Just to have a bit of fun, every piece of art that I have Rory mention (except "Women Picking Olives" by Van Gogh) has been stolen and not recovered and/or is presumed lost. No, they weren't all in one museum, but again, it's just for shits and giggles. "The Concert" by Vermeer was stolen during the largest art heist in history in 1990 and is considered one of the most valuable missing paintings in the world. It's estimated worth is $200,000,000.
> 
> At the end of the Torchwood episode "Something Borrowed" following Gwen's wedding Jack returns to the privacy of his office and opens a box, smiling at the memories he finds there. One of the items is a black and white picture of him and an unnamed woman in a wedding dress. I haven't finished Torchwood yet but as the wiki didn't identify her I assume she's never given a name. So, boom, she just got one from me.
> 
> I've been vague about the location of Vickie's school. It's actually very difficult to find information about day-to-day basic life of boarding schools in the 60's. Most of what comes up when you do a search are these recent-ish articles about how traumatizing and abusive some of the schools were. How poorly the kids were treated and how badly they were fed. It wasn't all of them, just a few. In any case, because I suppose I'm waiting for something glorious to fall in my lap I'm going to keep it vague for now. I may have just now stumbled upon a book on Amazon that might be helpful. We'll see. Just know it's some where in Europe for now, lol. We'll figure this out later, right?
> 
> Sometimes I sit on chapters, I don't publish right away. I'm nervous about them for reasons I can't pinpoint. I was nervous about this one and I have no idea why. It's been done for well over a week but I kept re-reading it and tweaking a line here or there. No clue as to why. Just anxiety, I guess. Anyway, I hope despite my misgivings this is alright.
> 
> 8/2/15


	216. September 5, 1960

_**Curator's Note: What follows here is a selection of rough drafts and edits of "The New Adventures Of Cordelia Puddle & The Doctor: Cordy's Choice" as well as correspondence between Mrs. Pond-Williams and Mr. Pail. We are especially proud to have this in our collection as this early letter reveals not just insight into Mrs. Pond William's working relationship with Mr. Pail but also some of her inner thoughts regarding the indelible Miss Puddle.** _

* * *

_3rd of September, 1960_

_(Martin, just a few late night tweaks that wouldn't let me rest.)_

_(Adjustments to the 3rd paragraph of the 4th page of Chapter 9.)_

The Dream Lord as he now insisted on being called tsked mockingly as she knelt over the bodies of the unconscious men.

"Poor, Cordy. What must it be like? To be abandoned like this time and time and time again. He always leaves you, doesn't he? Alone in the dark. Never apologizes."

"He doesn't have to." She said shaking with anger, not fear as she spoke.

"Good, because he never will. Out of sight out of mind when it comes to you, he is. But I suspect you already really know that, eh? Isn't that one of your greatest fears? That you're just an amusing little insect that catches his attention every now and then? A fly buzzing at the window pane. Some days he graces you with a smile. One day though...he may just swat you like the bug you are."

"Shut up."

"But for now, he's left you all alone with me. Spooky old, not to be trusted me." He said and a greasy smile crept across his features. A moment later the clothing he'd worn that matched the Doctor's identically changed. Gone was the shirt, braces and bow tie replaced by a dressing gown, open, showing far more than she cared to see and tied with a red, silk belt. "Anything could happen." he said emphasizing the "anything". He looked like a parody of a 1970's lothario. She wanted to take a step back but instead she narrowed her eyes and moved forward.

_(Skipping ahead a bit, Martin, I like what we've got so far but a few other changes. Four paragraphs down after the Dream Lord changes positions and moves to the Doctor. I thought this needed to be fleshed out a touch.)_

"Now, which one of these men would you really choose? Look at them. You ran away with a handsome hero. Would you really give him up for a bumbling country doctor who thinks the only thing he needs to be interesting is a ponytail?"

"Stop it. You don't know him."

"Do you?" He countered. "Do you know him? Have you ever bothered to know him or it just easier thinking of him as an accessory? A book on the shelf that you can take down when you please? A little dog you can put into your purse on shopping excursions for people to admire. A  _pet_."

Cordelia felt tears burn her eyes but she wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. Wouldn't dare allow him that triumph. It did hurt though. It stung at her in a place so silent and so deep she was usually successful in ignoring it...usually.

"Maybe it's better than loving and losing the Doctor, though eh? Perhaps you'd like that, playing the part of the victim of unrequited love so you can be sure to make the next 50 years of William's life a misery. Or...do you think you can keep them both? Has the Doctor finally met his match in terms of selfishness?

( _It felt uneven to me without giving William his time with the Dream Lord. Fairly short but I'll add to it later._ )

William tucked the makeshift poncho tightly around Cordy before removing his own and bundling it up to slip under her head. It was still odd to not see her abdomen rounded with their child. It felt real. It  _was_ real wasn't it? Yes, yes the Doctor was right it was everything he wanted. A quiet, married life with Cordy in a small town without aliens or ice cold suns. Just normal. Pleasantly, perfectly normal. It was like his dream. He didn't understand why it wasn't a dream that they shared.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?" The Dream Lord asked flickering into existence at his side. He jumped, startled and took a step back. "When you see true love like this you just can't take your eyes off it can you? A damsel and her hero. And then there's you...you're a bit like the narrator of this story aren't you. Not really involved, just sort of hanging about waiting to be fed your next line? It must be so boring. Remember when I said I'd seen her dreams? Would you like to hear them, William? All those not-so-secret-secret longings she has?"

"She loves me." William said with a conviction he wishes he felt fully. "We're going to be married...or...or we already are married. Depending on-"

"I know that you love her." The other man said with mock sympathy. "Tell you what, let's say I offered a bargain. What if I was willing to let her go if you stayed. The other two go free but have to live the rest of your life in Upper Leadworth tending to the Eknodines. Maybe they'd even let you live. Someone has to write their prescriptions, eh?"

"And you'd let her go?" William replied immediately. "On your honor, you'd let her go?"

"I'd let them both go." He nodded.

"Alright...alright, I'll stay, let her go."

The Dream Lord frowned which William did not take as a good sign.

"You'd really do it wouldn't you? You'd hand her over to him just like that. Not a squeak, not a protest, not a fight. Do you think that's noble?"

"To save her, I would do anything." There was no hesitation in him. None. The pain caused by just the thought of losing her, though she was still there before him, crumpled on the TARDIS floor now thick with ice, was acute. But it would be nothing compared to the pain of knowing she was hurt or dead. If this was his option, his choice, then so be it.

"Do you think she'll mourn you? You're forgettable, William. You always have been. You will spend eternity in that empty little town and she will skip off merrily with the Doctor, pleased that she's been relieved of her burden. She will  _never even remember_  you."

( _Ok, finally third to last chapter after Williams death. Tell me what you think._ )

He was nothing more now than ashes at her feet. One moment he'd been there, flesh and real, warm and alive beneath her hand and the next he was gone. The pain of it hadn't hit her quite yet. She was stunned. Far too stunned to think of anything except reversing this.

This had to be fixed. There was one man who could fix it and he would. Of course he would. He was her Doctor.

"Save him. It's what you do. It's what you always do."

But she didn't see the confidence on his features she expected. He was fidgiting, only able to look at her with fleeting, pained glances.

"Not always."

The two words that followed hit her ear but for some reason they didn't compute. Not right away. It was like he was speaking to her from a great distance, miles and miles away until eventually her brain registered with finality of his "I'm sorry."

And suddenly he didn't seem magical at all. He wasn't a special man with amazing powers. He couldn't make miracles. He was just a bloke, small, helpless, ineffectual and right now, at this moment, utterly useless.

"Then  _what_ is the point of you?" She hissed and she felt her lip curl up in a sneer. He shrank from her and for a moment, a good long moment she wanted to strike him.

She felt the baby, her baby,  _their_ baby move inside her, no doubt restless and upset by her mood, her pain.

That pain, bright and sharp and jagged threatened to close in on her again but she fought it back. She fights it back with what sarts as an idea and then crystalizes to a certainty.

"This is the dream." She says and leaves no room for argument.

The Doctor studies her face. He knows. Before she even explains her plan he knows and so she doesn't have to.

The tympany of thoughts marched through her head. William is gone. I never told him how much I love him. William is gone. I never todl him how much I love him. William is gone. I never told him how much I love him. I never told him. I never told him. I never told him. I never told him.

Her mouth has been operating without her and she allows her mind to drift back to the conversation just as the Doctor is saying; "Unless we just die."

And still she is unphased.

"Either way, this is my only chance of seeing him again. This is the dream."

She reaches for his hand and feels a surge of sad and true affection when he takes it without question.

"Then this is the battle we choose to lose." He says. He has agreed. They have an accord. This is the moment where either way, everything ends.

Either they awaken on the TARDIS or if there is mercy in the universe in the form of God or some nameless benevolence perhaps they'll meet again in an afterlife. No matter what this was her only chance of ever being reunited with William, her William again.

Hand in hand they headed down the stairs towards their inevitable death.

* * *

Dear Martin,

It makes me nervous when we go this long and I haven't heard from you. I  _know_ you didn't take a day off. You  _never_ take a day off. And look, I'm cutting down your workload and sending you a postcard so you don't even have to waste time opening an envelope.

Did it need that much editing?

Or are you having second thoughts?

-Amy

* * *

Dear Amy,

Sorry, didn't mean to make you nervous. By the way, I've always wanted to ask, how are you replying to my letters so fast! I barely get one to the mailbox before I get a reply from you. Make no mistake, I'm not complaining just ever so slightly jealous of your expeditious mail carrier.

Regarding the edits, I like them overall but I wonder if you're not being a bit hard on Cordy. Some of the things the Dream Lord says to her are abrasively cutting.

Also...there are some, how shall I say it...implications in this particular book that I want to make sure are intentional. I realize Cordelia has flirted with the Doctor before but there is the hint that she wants more than just William. Was that on purpose? If not, we may need to ease back on a few of the lines here and there. Not to mention, the reveal of the Dream Lord would also mean it's mutual. I can imagine you shaking your head as you read this but I just wanted to double check. You know me. Thought I don't suppose there's any going back from this. Once we started on The New Adventures Of Cordelia & The Doctor we found ourselves in uncharted territory.

I know you're headed overseas soon so no rush, just get back to me when you can.

Have a safe trip!

* * *

Dear Martin,

Yes, that's absolutely what I want, Martin. As for Cordy, I never put more on her than I think she can bear. At this point she's just not sure what she wants until it's almost too late. The Dream Lord is as much the nagging, nasty voice in her head as it is the Doctor's.

And of course there's going back! If it makes you so nervous I will unoffically commit to a Previously Lost, Now Found Brand Spanking New Copy Of Cordelia Pond's Original Adventures With The Doctor. Books are like time travel, most of the time you can just go back if you need to.

And as you're agent it's my job to be overly cautious. I wouldn't have you any other way.

But do you  _like_ it?

* * *

Dear Amy,

I love it. I do. Every word of it. Now, stop working and enjoy your vacation!

Yours,

Martin

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't think people give that moment near the end of Amy's Choice enough credit. In this episode, two men, Amy's men, both die for her and she in turn is willing to die for Rory. The Doctor agrees with little question and I don't think it's just because he knows/hopes/thinks he'll regenerate. Even if that is the case it still means the end of Eleven. Considering what we know now about the War Doctor, (though I don't think that plot twist was even conceived of or decided at that point.) it would/could also mean the end of the Doctor period because he knows this is his last regeneration. Does he possibly have an inkling that they're in the dream world? Perhaps. But he doesn't know. So no matter what, he faces death because he loves Amy and he is willing to do that for her.
> 
> This season, this group, Amy/Rory/11 whether you slash them together or not (and that is entirely up to you) is a love story.
> 
> I want to remind you all that the reason Rory died in "Cold Blood" is because he stepped in front of a weapon to save the Doctor. And if you watch closely when they first arrive on the planet in "The Doctor's Wife" and Idris runs towards the Doctor, Amy and Rory leap in front of him to shield him. And when the Doctor is shouting at Captain Runaway in "A Good Man Goes To War" he says "And when people come to you and ask if trying to get to me through the people I love!...is in anyway a good idea, I want you to tell them your name." . He called in (possibly) every favor he was every owed and started a war to rescue his best mate.
> 
> I say again with zero hesitation, this is a love story. It may be platonic, it may be familial, it may be an intense friendship (if those titles are how you choose to see it), but this is also a love story. I think their sacrifices for one another get glossed over in all the action and adventure that surrounds them but time and time again one of them is willing to die or does die for the other two. And time and time again, the loss of one makes the other two feel terribly incomplete. I'm gushing, I know, but I can't help it. They are my favorite companions. They are my favorite trio and I think their relationship is so rich and complicated and deep and touching and I could explore it from now until the end of time.
> 
> Oh and I have tentatively named Cordy's version of Rory, William. But I'm not loving it. It may just be a place holder for now.
> 
> 8/9/15


	217. September 6, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of September, 1960

Dear Doctor,

This may be one of the first times in decades where I'm not  _exactly_  writing to you. Of course I am, in a way still writing to you. It's just ingrained in me now. I imagine you reading. I imagine speaking to you across the distance. In fact, I know I'll still address you in this entry. But, there are things in here I don't want you to read. Nothing terrible, just discussions with Melody that I think should be kept between us. I'm sure that's raised your curiosity to levels you can't really bear but...so be it. I'm asking you to skip this entry and just trust me.  _Just for now_. It will all be revealed in the end, I'm sure. I'll tell you when.

I'm writing from a British Overseas Airways Boeing 707 somewhere over the North Atlantic. I've done a lot of traveling here and there for Torchwood but I haven't been back on native soil in decades. Both of my daughters are sleeping soundly on either side of me and we've still got hours to go before we land.

I knew Melody and I would have a difficult time topping dinner and a show with Daddy but we did our best. And speaking of the show, I remember thinking I was going to pull my hair out when she was seven and obsessed with Frozen. I was starting to hear Let It Go in my nightmares. But nothing quite compares to she and Rory spending what seems like every hour singing The Lonely Goatherd. I am now officially declaring our home yodel free.

The first thing we did for Vickie was take her shopping. She's grown out of all the clothes she left here before her travels with you. We ended up just donating them to Good Will. She'll be in a school uniform for the majority of the time but she'll still need casual clothes for off hours. So we had fun picking outfits for different occasions we anticipated and then having them shipped directly over. That done we bought her various sundries and necessities and creature comforts to ease the homesickness. We got her a new pocketbook and slipped some pounds inside and coins for phone calls.

Now remember, if you want to call us from a pay phone you'll have to lift the receiver and dial 100 to reach the operator, you can't ring abroad directly. I expect it'll be around 19 shillings and sixpence, alright?

Alright, mum.

Now, I'm going to make sure you have enough for anytime you need to reach us.

Heavens mum, you're giving her real coins and not slugs? Melody asked.

Yes, Melody, we're trying to teach citizenship. I said giving her nose a tweak which made her laugh.

Well, as we're talking about money, take this as well. Melody said handing her what appeared be be blank looking slips of paper and equally blank coins. GPS money. It automatically adjusts to the local currency no matter where you go.

Vickie stared at the papers with amazement and a hint of disbelief before stuffing them in the purse as well.

That should only be used for emergencies though, alright? I insisted. You have to live in  _this_ world and  _this_ time and I want to make certain you know how to get along.

Melody and I tried our best not to load her down with things and information and hugs and kisses and tears but it was no use. We had a small farewell party for her at the house, not much different from she and Melody's welcome home party if not a touch more subdued. The men in her life, Tony, Jack and Rory all had a few final words of advice for her dispensed with the perfect balance of seriousness and humor. She listened, nodded, hugged and cried until finally it was time for us to head to LaGuardia.

Rory gave her one last embrace and I heard him whisper, You're amazing, jitterbug and you're going to be amazing. Let no one tell you different.

Not long after that here we are, soaring above the clouds. We'll land at Heathrow and from there take a car to Chartwell.

I can't believe how long it's been since I've seen Winston. 34 years for me 19 for him.

* * *

I spent a glorious day, afternoon and evening with the former Prime Minister. What had originally started off a just a chat over tea bridged into an extravaganza of reminiscing. It was lovely. We laughed and talked, I heard some amazing stories about you, Doctor. I'm honestly surprised you haven't had him along with you in the TARDIS at some point. I think he would have made an amazing companion.

It's almost too much to go over here, too many tales, too many questions and answers and laughs and even a few tears. He was very impressed by both of my impressive daughters and I could see him trying to worm secrets out of Melody. She was such a puzzle to him that he couldn't resist and I enjoyed their wordplay and her teasing immensely. You do surround yourself with clever people, don't you, Doctor? Sometimes I'm surprised I made the cut. After awhile, Melody took a very antsy Vickie out for a bit while Winston and I caught up.

Well as you haven't spilled any secrets about space and time am I to assume this isn't it? Not my time to shuffle off the mortal coil, eh?

No, not yet. I made a promise to you and I intend to keep it, but not today. Today was just a regular old visit.

He paused for a moment and just looked at me.

When I last saw you, you were practically a little girl.

Oh, don't remind me. Not a girl anymore. I'm afraid my youth has run out on me.

You don't give yourself enough credit. Do you miss it? Traveling the stars?

Yes and no. When I dissect my memories and what...tugs at my heart. It was the feeling of all of us together. There was the adventure all around it, yes, that was exciting but the core of what made that time so perfect was the three of us. That's what I miss. There's more adventure on this planet that you can imagine. In all these years, trust me, we haven't been bored.

When I was a young man of 21, I discovered H.G. Wells The Time Machine and I was captivated. I too had longed for adventure and here was everything I had quietly dreamed of, captured in one breathtaking novel. As soon as I had a chance I wrote to the man himself gushing like a school boy over his work. We met in 1902 and he remained a dear friend of mine until he died in '46. I shall tell you a secret now that no one save he and I know. I lifted a line from War of the Worlds and added it to a speech I gave in 1906! I referred to the Nazi's as "the gathering storm". I believe he got quite a kick out of that when I told him. But what can I say, a good piece of prose is a good piece of prose. You can imagine how I felt upon meeting the Doctor, this man who seemed to have leapt from the pages of the greatest stories I'd ever read. I see why you ran off with him. I had half a mind to do the same.

Well, I began, I have two secrets to match your one.

Do tell, dear Amy.

First, Herbert George Wells met the Doctor... _twice_. And after those meetings he seemed to have the most marvelous idea for a book about time travel. And second, one of the Doctor's many, many monikers is The Oncoming Storm.

After I told him that, Doctor, Winston laughed for so hard and so long his daughter and grandson rushed in just to make sure everything was alright. All in all we had a simply wonderful time together. How nice to visit with old friends.

* * *

Dropping Vickie off was a lovely, stressful, emotionally exhausting experience. So much so that I'm not sure if I can relate it now without bursting into tears. We three met the headmistress who was of course especially welcoming. We were treated with all the silly respect and deference that having money and connections gets you. Normally I find it all rather disgusting, kind of the way you feel when people salute you, Doctor. But for my children, I will accept every benefit. Rory and I mostly sit on our money. We have a trust for the kids and we occasionally treat ourselves to a night out but for the most part if we're not donating it to various charities and children's homes it stays in the bank collecting interest. I like it that way. I loved our flat and I love our house. Our children have no idea that they will be millionaires when they turn 35 and Bracey reveals himself as their trustee and we intend to keep it that way. We want normal. Normal for them and normal for us. Make no mistake, I'm not naive. This money is what allows us to be able to send Vickie to a ridiculous, exclusive institution like this. And I am so grateful. We live happily and modestly and without Melody, darling, wonderful, Melody investing in everything for us from the new fangled idea of supermarkets to Bulova luxury watches to International Paper none of this would be possible. But I digress.

Melody, Vickie and I toured the campus, I made a little map for her to get around as we walked so she wouldn't get lost. She and her sister giggled at me and my over protective ways but I didn't care. We went back to her room after a bit which was actually more of a shared dormitory, nodding and smiling at girls who would be her classmates.

Shall we help you unpack a bit? I asked her.

Ok, mum.

She seemed slightly nervous but I saw her trying to master it. I could see that she was torn between wanting us to leave and being scared of letting us go. She was ready to begin this new chapter of her life but so terrified for the old chapter to end. Another young girl walked into the room and eyed her from afar. She had thick rimmed glasses, a round face and blonde hair.

Hello. She said in an accent that I couldn't quite place.

Hi. Vickie said in reply.

My name is Brigitta, what's yours?

Victoria, but my friends call me Vickie.

I watched as my daughter seemed to think for a moment before adding. Tja, trévligt att rå´kas/trä´ffas!

Brigitta's eyes widened.

You speak Swedish! She exclaimed.

Only that, my brother-in-law taught it to me. He said it might come in handy some day.

Cool! Do you want to get lunch?

Sure!

Vickie was about to dash away but I lightly touched her arm. I knew my cue to leave the stage when I heard it.

I guess we'll be going then, sweetie.

For a moment a look of panic crossed her features but I smiled and took her chin in my hand.

You're going to be just fine. I stated firmly hoping the tears would stop welling in my eyes. I know it. And remember, I said as I hugged her, we're just a phone call away.

Vickie nodded and sniffled just once.

Melody bent down to hug her as well whispering.

Some of us even closer then that. You've got lots of paper too so send us oodles of letters.

Now don't you forget about us, alright? I said.

Never. She said with a head shake.

We love you, baby.

I love you too. Both of you.

I could tell that Brigitta was growing impatient and so, as I knew I had to, I let her go. I watched as my little girl, not nearly so little anymore, headed off with her new friend. Melody and I finished unpacking her things for her and putting them away. I scribbled yet another note of encouragement and left it underneath her pillow and finally, with me fighting against it all the way, my eldest daughter and I left.

I hadn't bothered with a return ticket as Melody of course had her vortex manipulator with her. I'd wanted to hang about and essentially helicopter parent Vickie but all three of us knew it was best this way, just a quick and lovely goodbye.

Melody and I spent the night in a very posh hotel but I was out like a light by 8pm, exhausted and jet lagged like somebody's old gran.

Anywhere you want to go? Melody asked me the next morning after we'd finished a light breakfast. Home to Leadworth, perhaps?

But I shook my head.

No, it's not home anymore and certainly not this year. I just want to take a stroll with you, somewhere lovely, alright?.

Somewhere lovely... She said before inputting a few coordinates. I can manage that.

I took hold of her arm and when he reappeared we were in a verdant garden the likes of which I had never seen before.

Are we off world? I asked. But she just smiled.

What's on your mind, mum?

Lot's of things, I suppose. Goodbye's mostly. The next time I see Winston is likely to be the last time. I promised I'd visit him and tell him all the secrets of the universe before he died. It's not long now...

If anyone has lived a long and full life it's Winston.

True...but what's long enough or full enough? Melody...

She turned to look at me with surprise.

You're hesitating to ask me something. I don't think I've ever seen that before.

That's because this is big. And I'm not sure whether I should just keep it under my hat or not.

You can ask me anything, you know that.

Alright...what happens when the Doctor dies? And I don't mean regeneration. I understand that...as much as I can. But I also understand that who he is to us, right now, that perishes. A new man with his memories appears but he isn't our Doctor.

He's always out Doctor. She said absently as she started to walk again. I figured that might be all the answer I would get out of her for now. But eventually she started to speak again.

A very long time ago his people practiced an art known as soul catching. It was a complicated process by which the memories...the soul of a dying Time Lord was absorbed and held in the mind of another until they could be uploaded into the Matrix...and I know what you're thinking, mum.

She looked at me and I looked at her and at the same moment we both said, Star Trek III: The Search For Spock.

We laughed a bit before she continued.

On Gallifrey, there was this enormous computer and on that computer was the sum and total of all the knowledge of his people. Everything they knew and were, everyone of them that had ever been...or would be. That's the Matrix. It was so many things to so many different Time Lords, a weapon, a prison, repository of infinite power, a prognosticator, a library... but it was also an afterlife. It was a micro universe and each regeneration received their own individual life or afterlife if you will.

Can you perform the rite? I asked.

I am many things but a true blooded Gallifreyan isn't one of them. I don't have that power. His brain is so different from ours, larger, it can separate hemisphere's it has a larger lobe. Even if I tried...I think the process would leave me comatose and that's at best. Then we'd both be trapped, locked in my body, locked in my head, no way out. That's not heaven, that's hell. Besides, the Matrix doesn't even exist anymore.

I would never want you to do that. I said to her suddenly. There'll be no trading of your life for his, do you hear me. Promise me you'd never do that.

She hesitated but after a moment she smiled.

He wouldn't let me in any case. Can you imagine? I'd have to handcuff him to a wall to get him to settle down for something like that.

So...without a Matrix our Doctor will just disappear.

Melody looked pained but didn't answer.

We don't know that for sure. There are so many things he doesn't tell me. So many secrets.

Do you really not have any regeneration's left?

Not a one.

How many did you give him? Twenty? Thirty? How many do you all have anyway?

I gave him ten. And it was worth every one. There's something I need to tell you, Mum. I've been putting it off for years.

What is it?

You asked me years ago if I had met his 12th incarnation and I said no and that's true...well it was true. Regeneration are cycles and each cycle only has a limited number. Twelve. That's all. Only twelve. The Doctor is on his last life. There is no 12.

I'm going to pause here, Doctor. I asked you not to read this or at least not to read it until later. I think I'll know when to tell you when. So if you are reading this, then it's time and I'll just tell you what I told her. You're wrong. I can't elaborate. I can tell you more. I can only say you're wrong. That is not speculation. That is fact. I hope you believe me and I hope it comforts you.

After I put my daughter off and made it clear in no uncertain terms that I couldn't explain further I continued on.

From Melody to Mels and Mels to River. How did Mels get from, 1969 you said? To 1989. What happened in the interim, where were you?

If you can believe it, I don't know. It's another secret the Doctor won't tell me. I know he saw my timeline but some reason during those years he couldn't extract me. That's the problem with regenerating as a child, your memories and understanding are limited. I can only assume I was immediately taken by the Church and the Silents for training.

And then you wound up in a children's home and then you were adopted by the Zuckers.

I believe that's the time line.

I can't imagine what happened during those 20 years.

Neither can I. When it first happens, when you regenerate, everything is all muddled but it's also so very clear. There were these flashes where I could so clearly recall who I was and where I was, vaguely aware of who I was now and then...I feel as though I remember people rushing up to me just as I was trying to get used to this new body, these new hands and feet. So small, so much younger than I had been. I think my last coherent thought was something along the lines of, Oh bugger not all this again!

And after that?

Nothing really. I was only about one at the time. I suspect there was a time where I recalled but you know our earliest memories begin to fade around age seven.

Childhood amnesia. I said with a nod.

Exactly. So there was a point in time where I knew what happened but I've lost it now. I just vaguely, very vaguely remember feeling warm and happy and taken care of but I can't pull up a face.

Maybe faces aren't all that important. I said, happy that not every memory and feeling from childhood was grim. I love you, little girl. I said, wrapping my arms around her shoulder as we strolled.

I love you too, mum.

We walked around a bit more, just talking quietly, enjoying one anothers company. I have no idea where she took me but I'm fairly certain the flowers that I saw were not from earth. It was nice. Being wherever I was with my daughter was nice.

We picked some of those strange flowers and fashioned them into a bouquet because our next stop was Bracey. I hadn't told him we were coming. I know Rory would have told me not to pack all this into just two days but I'm a tough old bird, I can handle it. I need to be able to handle it.

Melody got us to his garden just as he and Dorabella were settling down.

Not too late for afternoon tea are we? I called out as we approached. The look on both their faces, Doctor. The surprise. The welcome.

Amy, Melody what on earth are you both doing here! Welcome! Welcome!

Edwin embraced us both and I admit I held on tightly.

So good to see you my friend, my dear, dear friend.

How I have missed you. He whispered in return.

Glancing over his shoulder as we hugged I noticed Dorabella bundled into a lounge chair, she looked small and thin. The smile she wore was genuine but weary. Breaking away from Bracey I presented her with the bouquet.

These are for you, my friend.

How lovely, Amy. Thank you! I don't believe I've ever seen flowers like these in my life.

Melody and I gave her a gentle hug before settling down to take tea.

Edwin was as usual a marvel, he keeps his words bright, his conversation lively. The only thing that betrays him are his eyes. They're tired, shadowed. It breaks my heart, it breaks me to see my friend like this.

We touched on everything and nothing in particular. He didn't want to delve too deeply, it seemed and I respected that. At some point we all noted Dorabella shifting in the chair preparing to get to her feet. We all moved towards her but Dorabella waved us away.

Edwin, I want Amy to help me. Is that alright?

He looked hesitant but eventually nodded.

Happy to help. I said as I gently took her arm and helped into the house.

I wanted to speak to you alone for a moment. She said and I smiled, waiting for her to continue. Edwin, loves you so much. We found one another so late in life, you see. Far too late for children. But I think he always has looked at you as a daughter. How he's worried about you, fretted over you and boasted about you to anyone who'll listen over the years. He loves you so.

She had tears in her eyes which matched my own.

And I love him. I think back, on all those years ago when we first met, just on a lark, a whim and how he's become irreplaceable to me, to our family. I wouldn't have survived those early years were it not for his kindness. The kindness of you both.

He says the same. She said with a smile that gradually started to fade. Amy...I won't survive. I've accepted that as much as one can. I don't know that he has yet. He's thought about it, the reality of looking about this house and not seeing me but I don't now if he's accepted it. Once I'm gone I won't be able to help him. I know this is a terrible burden to put on you. Maybe it's far too much to ask. But the idea of leaving him...all...alone.

Her voice cracked and I took both of her hands in mine trying to steady my own voice before speaking.

He won't be alone. He'll have us. He'll always have us.

Once I'd made her that promise, Doctor we dried our tears and I helped her back to the garden. The rest of the visit was quiet and uneventful. I tried once or twice to tug Edwin away so that we could chat privately but he'd have none of it. I understand. He didn't want to waste a moment with her. I know I'd be...I will be the same with Rory... Of course this all got me thinking about Rory and as our pop-in wore down I realized how much I needed to see him. With a promise to return soon Melody and I bid our friends goodbye.

I'd planned on staying in the UK for a bit, maybe a day or so more but as Rory had realized so many years ago during his tour of duty, Europe wasn't home anymore. It was nice. it was interesting. It was familiar. But it wasn't Manhattan. Of course Melody knew.

I think it's time to get you home. She said with a smile as she punched the keypad of the vortex manipulator.

I took her arm and smiled gratefully.

You know me so well. Will you stay with us a bit?

I can't, I'd love to but my sabbatical is over. Have to get back to classes.

Of course, I understand.

And then we were home and I was rushing into Rory's arms and holding on to him for dear life. He didn't ask why he just accepted it. We said our goodbyes to Melody, Jack kindly decided to make himself scarce declaring that he'd be back in a day or two and I learned Tony was off spending the night with a few mates.

What happened, baby? Rory asked later that evening after I'd spent hours just sort of glommed on to him. I know it was hard sayng good bye to Vickie but it seems like more than that.

I saw Edwin and Dorabella, Melody and I had a serious talk about things and I just realized how woefully incomplete I am without you.

Well, it's alright. He said gathering me in his arms as we lay in bed. Because I am here, right here, holding you.

I felt like I'd spent the last two days trying not to cry and now I just gave up and gave in.

Doctor, good God, Doctor, why do I feel like I'm going to lose him? Why? Is it because it's our narrative? Is it because he always goes first? You know those stories about someone who, for instance, survives this incredible plane crash? They just walk away from it completely unscathed and then 15 years later, they die in a plane crash? Almost as though it were written in the stars and the fates were like, Sorry we missed you, we'll call again. He's always been taken from me. Always. What if I have to face years alone without him? 82. 82. 82. 82. I saw it. I saw the age. Sometimes, it just hits me like that, all at once. 82. Not enough time left. Not enough time. 28 years. 28 years, that's all. Not even, less than that now, likely. 27. 27 years. That's all I have left with him.

I started to sob harder, unable and unwilling to explain.

Rory, do you know you believe in God? I managed to choke out after a bit.

He chuckled as he held me.

Do I know I believe in God? That is such an Amelia Pond question. So, I believe in God do I? So says you?

You do. Do you believe in heaven?

He took a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts.

I've seen many, many people die. Sometimes...they just went glassy eyed, slack and then they were gone. But some of them got this look on their face. Just absolute peace and joy and...and...understanding. As if they were seeing something that answered all their questions and welcomed them. I guess I just don't know. But sometimes I think that since the concept of an afterlife in one way or another has been a feature of nearly every culture on earth and then you add to that all the cultures off this planet...I mean even the Doctor's people believed in something.

They did? I asked amazed at how he'd thrown that information out so casually. But when I asked him once he didn't answer. Plus I thought Time Lords were all science-y.

They are. I mean, he tried to spin it when we talked. The ancient Galifreyans worshiped their moon as a virgin goddess. 'But it was a bit different, Rory'. He said to me. And I countered with, Were their sacrifices? Rituals? Prayers? Blessings? Curses? Prophecies? All of which he grudgingly agreed there were. And I said, Well, then mate, you had yourself a religion, a proper one full of all the majesty and foolishness that comes along with it. And if there's one thing I know it's that it takes eons to shake religion out of a culture. Even when you think it's done it still clings, it just changes its face and its form, it becomes tradition and ceremony which are much more palatable. The Doctor and his people are just as superstitious and cautious about whatever constitutes their blasphemy as anyone else. But I digress. My point is...all that hope for something after death, from all of us, every people, every planet, well, that's an awful lot of brain power stretched out over thousands, millions, billions of years concentrated on this one idea, this one thought, this one concept. If there wasn't a heaven before, perhaps in some way we all created it and we keep creating it. A sort of self replicating place of rest and reward. There's not a stitch of science in anything I just said but I find the theory of it all comforting. I hope...there's a heaven, Amy. I don't know for sure what I believe. But I do hope so.

A regular philosopher you are. I said tearily.

Nah, I knew some of the great philosophers. I'd drop in on a symposium every now and then. I'm just an old man who had a lot of time to think about things that's all. Amy...?

Yeah?

Stop worrying about me dying.

You're a creepy mind reader.

For which I make no apologies. I know it's not just about me, it's about Winston and Dorabella and maybe even the Doctor but I also know it circles back around to me. We can't do this, you know? We can't spend our days worrying about the days we don't have. And just so you know this well rehearsed speech is an almost exact copy of the one I give myself about you from time to time.

Rory paused for a moment before kissing me.

We have to focus on now. Now is all we have and you know what? Now is all I want. To sum it up as the Bard would, serve God. Love me. And mend.

I want forever. But I will gladly settle for now. I said kissing him in return. And I do love you and you mend me.

Oh Doctor, there was no pleasant, neatly packaged end to this day. No real answers. But at the very least I was able to conclude it knowing my children and my family were safe and that I was secure in the comfort of my husbands arms. We lay there, protected and content and looking at the seemingly endless pictures and memories you placed on that cube for us. Thank you so much for that. You see, we're making it a habit as promised. I even fell asleep with it in my hands. My family, my friends, Rory and memories of you. That's all I ask for and that's all I'll ever ask for.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love,

Amy

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, very briefly, H.G. Wells met the Sixth, Tenth and Second Doctor in a comic adventure, an audio adventure and on screen. Churchill was a big fan and personal friend of Wells and he did indeed lift that line from War of the Worlds and use it in a speech! Though that little piece of trivia wasn't actually discovered until 2006. In 1931 Churchill remarked "When I came upon The Time Machine, that marvelous philosophical romance...I shouted with joy."
> 
> Soul catching and the Matrix, ah, the Matrix where Time Lords went to die or be born or check the weather or learn about their future or a dozen other things. Also true and also long, long gone as an option. Or maybe, since Gallifrey Falls No More, perhaps it is an option. But of course, not for Eleven.
> 
> And yes, Amy knows something the Doctor doesn't. She knows something you guys don't know. Or rather you kind of know, but not really. No worries, all will be revealed in good time.
> 
> I think that's all I have for now by way of notes.
> 
> As always thanks for your reviews, for your patience, for recommending this story to your friends and thanks so much for reading.
> 
> ...I feel there may be another time jump on the horizon. I'm not sure... There's still business to sort out with Jack...we'll see.
> 
> OH! And would be remiss to not express my exquisite joy at the recent news that River will be back for Christmas! Yay! Best. News. Ever.


	218. September 26, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of September 1960

Dear Doctor,

This evening Amy, Jack and I settled down in the lounge with pizza and beer to watch the first ever televised presidential debate along with 66 million other people. Jack had been gone for awhile, we hadn't seen him since the Amy got back. And though he promised to come back soon we kept getting telegrams saying he'd been delayed. We were both pleased when he showed up unannounced and we settled in for a night of politics.

There weren't really any bombshells just questions about experience, leadership, Khrushchev and communism nothing about Vietnam but I suppose that's to come.

Nixon looked even worse than the history books said and nothing like the over confident man I recall meeting. He was pale, sweaty, he'd eschewed any sort of makeup, his shirt looked far too big for him and overall he appeared exhausted. Amy was unable to keep off her laptop as we watched and she stumbled across a transcript of a taped conversation between Nixon and Haldeman following this disastrous performance.

Amy read it aloud to us.

This is what he said, You know something? By God, I did not understand this enough in '60. You know, I hated to do television shows. I was totally wrong.

It goes on to say that following the debates with Kennedy he never participated in another one.

You see, right there, that's Nixon's big problem. Jack added with a shake of his head. He would always rather avoid the problem than fix it.

I think it's rather difficult to narrow Nixon's issues down to  _one_  big problem. Amy said derisively.

Have you met him? Jack asked.

A long time ago. Amy said at the same time I said, Nine years from now.

He wasn't personally rude to us but he was just...

Nixon. Amy supplied and I agreed.

Would things have been different if Nixon had gotten elected? I asked.

Things could have always been different. Better? Unlikely. Jack said with a sigh. I'm not a scholar when it comes to 20th century earth history but I know Kennedy escalated the United States involvement in Vietnam. Despite getting a certain amount of credit for it he didn't do very much to help with civil rights.

Some might say he didn't have time. I supplied. But those people aren't me. He had a foreign policy agenda to push and he did it.

Don't presidents often get their bearings in a second term? Amy asked. Who knows what might have happened if he had lived.

He did live. In an alternate universe

But how is that possible. I thought the Kennedy assassination was a fixed point.

Why did you think that? Jack asked truly puzzled before chuckling. "Oh...I'm surprised at you two. That's so Earth-centric. No, it's just as malleable as any other average day.

But the Doctor was there. Or rather he's going to be there. This all still gives me a bit of a headache. I said with a frown.

Was he? Well, I think sometime he just likes to watch history play out. Let's not pretend he doesn't have a healthy amount of bloodlust.

Or maybe he was there to prevent something worse from happening. Amy said, the defensive tone rising in her voice.

Maybe. Jack said before hastily changing tactics. In any case there any plenty of scenarios, real actual universes where there is no assassination. In one he's killed anyway, by zombies but that's before 1963.

Zombies? Amy asked skeptically.

Yep and in another he pulls the country out of Vietnam.

Sounds good to me. I said.

You'd think so, but it's not that simple. Without the assassination, without the war there is no counter culture movement because there's no culture to counter. Civil, rights, women's right, opposition to the military industrial complex it all gets put on the backburner. The 60's as we come to know it doesn't happen. There's no universal spark, there's no call to arms, there's nothing that coalesces for people to fight against, There's no great awakening.

I don't think you're giving people enough credit. I said, but even as the words left my mouth they didn't seem true.

I think you're giving them too much. My only point is I've seen or at least read about the worlds where he lives, some of them are the same, some of them are so much worse and some of them don't even exist because the nuclear arms race accelerates so fast Earth destroys itself. And in the end it doesn't matter. From where we're standing, it's everything. From a few light years away it's a blip, a bright light in the sky that flares and dies.

Leave it to Nixon to spark a discussion on nihilism. Amy said.

In one universe in the early 1900's there was an ocean liner that ran into an iceberg. Jack began.

Yeah I think we know that story. I grinned.

Jack smiled. I don't think you do.

It was called the Oceanic, White Star Line, biggest ship ever built surpassing even her sisters the Olympic, Britannic and the Titanic. The Oceanic struck an iceberg and went down in the Irish Sea off the coast of Wales. It had a passenger capacity of over 2000 and a crew compliment of nearly 1100. The people that didn't make it onto the few lifeboats drowned or froze to death in the water, some of the rest died in a fire that broke out in the galley and rushed through the ship as it made it's final descent. Over 2000 people died, easily surpassing the loss of life on the Titanic. It was a tragedy to be sure and the public regarded it as such but very few American or British elite were lost. No Astor's. No Guggenheim's. No Strauss's. It wasn't new, it wasn't unique, it wasn't fantastic. That gave the White Star Line time to delay, delay improvements, delay re-designs of the watertight doors, delay changes in the number of required lifeboats. There was no Radio Act of 1912 that assured someone would always be awake in case a distress signal was sent. No establishment of an International Ice Patrol. No standardization of distress calls. And do you have any idea how many maritime disasters there were in the meantime? How many people lost their lives? All of this because Titanic never happened. In the Time Agency we called them CDE. Collateral Damage Events. Events that are important and necessary because of the changes they bring about. Yes, they're often horrible but it has been analyzed and decided that things would be much worse were they not allowed to happen.

That's awful.

Yeah, I know but it's necessary to preserve the timelines.

That's not what I meant. Amy continued. I mean, yeah, it's terrible but I was referring to the idea that it's a burden you have to carry. Knowing it's going to happen. knowing it needs to happen and not being able to stop it. You must feel a bit like Cassandra.

Jack, as usual, hadn't planned on compassion.

I suppose sometimes I do.

Jack, and trust me when I say this isn't a Here's-your-hat-what's-your-hurry? kind of moment. You are welcome to stay as long as you like and we both mean that. But hadn't you better tell us why you're here.

He sighed deeply.

Yeah, you're right.

I think we can call this one for Kennedy. I said switching off the TV.

You received a communique from Torchwood not long ago that warned of Em Mim.

Yeah, they told us to wait for further information from Torchwood White, which would be you.

Em Mim stands for empathic mimetic. Typically they're harmless, sometimes even quite generous. When the king of Sto was assassinated a mimetic life form happened to visiting the planet, just on holiday. They were in the middle of important peace talks and he volunteered to impersonate the King at least for the time being until he could "pass away harmlessly in the night". The peace talks were successful and the kings court kept putting off the idea of abdication or a harmless tale of the sovereign dying in his sleep. And by the end of it that mimetic life form ruled for 75 years. It was known as the age of Golden Change.

I take it we're not dealing with a benevolent king. Amy said.

No, we're not. This is something that I and Torchwood as a group have been tracking for years, across the globe, country to country. It takes pleasure in killing. After it murders the original he takes over their life for a time.

Sounds like a serial killer.

That's because it is. Jack smiled darkly at that point. And it  _really_  enjoys what it does. It doesn't always kill them, Sometimes it just assumes their identity and causes trouble. And as if that wasn't enough it's able to lift images from the minds of the people killed or even just had brief contact with which means it can shift and impersonate them as well. It's not just that. When it does kill someone it destroys their body. Take a look at the papers and you'll see a sudden uptick in missing persons reports these last few months. It's being careless.

What does it look like? In it's natural form?

I have no idea. Once it assumes human form it's indistinguishable from any of us.

So what do you need from us? Amy asked.

At the moment, nothing. In fact you both are our biggest asset. It's seen me, it knows my face, in fact it's duplicated my face and everything else. So, we need to institute some rules alright? Some sort of identifier.

Like a code word?

Exactly, something only we know, something so you can be sure you're talking to me.

We established a word which I was warned against writing down, Doctor, so I'll leave it unsaid. After that, Jack said he had to be going. We hadn't expected him to stay this long though we'd welcomed it. We hugged him and thanked him for visiting as always and he said he'd be in touch.

And that was that. I wonder have you ever heard of Empathic Mimetic's, Doctor? I expect so, you've heard of everything.

That's all from this end, mate.

Talk to you soon.

Love,

Rory

**27th of September, 1960 3:05AM**

Doctor...we just got a call from Jack.

He asked if we wanted him to bring anything and if it was a good time for him to come back. He apologized for it being so late. He can get into the house without needing us to unlock the door but he didn't want to creep about and scare us without warning. He wanted to give us a head up.

I watched Amy as she frowned and spoke into the receiver.

Back? What are you talking about you just left. I mean of course you're welcome but is everything alright?

There was a long pause. Too long.

I heard him through the phone clear as day say, Amy, I haven't been back in weeks.

Needless to say we both sprang out of bed. We checked on Tony who was fine and confused as to why his parents burst into his room in the middle of the night. Jack...real Jack arrived not long after and we let him in and locked the door.

And then we just sat up. We couldn't exactly go right back to bed and we're still sitting up. I just took a moment to write this to update you.

I can't lie, I'm frightened, Doctor, it was in our house, talking to us, for hours.

I'm enraged... and I'm frightened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a DW story called Matrix where President Kennedy does get killed by zombies. There's always been speculation about what might have happened if Kennedy had lived and not all of it is good. The Oceanic III was a planned White Star Line ship but due to financial problems it was never constructed. Substance wise historians say Kennedy and Nixon were pretty well matched. But while Kennedy had spent the weekend practicing with his aides in the relative comfort of his hotel room, Nixon had spent that time on the campaign trail. He'd recently been laid up for two weeks in the hospital after injuring his knee and as he was getting out of the car to go into the debate he banged it again. He still had a low grade fever from a flu he couldn't shake and he apparently didn't have time to shave. In short, he looked (and likely felt) a hot mess during this debate and America saw it...and they didn't like it. To round this out, I'll leave you with a quote by the first Mayor Richard Daley: Upon seeing Tricky-Dicky at the debate he exclaimed, "My God, they've embalmed him before he even died." Oh and Cassandra, if you don't know was a poor girl who happened to catch the eye of the god Apollo. When she refused him, he spit in her mouth (huh?) and gave her the ability to see the future while simultaneously cursing her so that she'd never be believed.
> 
> 10/1/15


	219. September 28th, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

28th of September, 1960

Dear Doctor,

Oddly after we related everything to Jack, Real Jack, that had been told to us he confirmed that it was true. Everything from the King of Sto to the creatures own predilection to killing.

What was the point of coming here? Rory asked.

To sniff us out, to size us up, to tease us, to flaunt its power, to make us doubt, any number of things. Just pick one. I replied. This is a game and we've been drafted into it like it or not.

Alright, so what's the plan? Is this capture and release? Rory asked.

Jack laughed darkly and he sounded a bit like the thing that had been with us so recently.

I know that's how things go with the Doctor. I know he's the great arbitrator but we don't have that luxury here. We don't have the ability to imprison something like this and we certainly don't have a legal precedent to put it on trial even if we did. It's just you guys me and the handful of people that makeup Torchwood.

What about space police, the Shadow Proclamation? I asked.

Yeah, they're kind of hands off in situations like this. Their appearance for one rogue would cause more harm than good. They're not even aware this is going on. Earth was only designated a Level 5 planet 3 years ago. If there was any neat and tidy justice it would spend it's next six lifetimes behind dwarf star alloy bars. But there isn't. Alright, hold out your hands.

What for? I questioned him while still doing what he asked.

This is a sub-dermal synchro implant and yeah, it's going to hurt a bit.

Jack hovered the familiar looking instrument over my hand, I felt a sting then real pain and swore like a sailor. After that I looked at my palm and there was this blue-ish sort of glow beneath the skin.

It's pretty basic technology but it comes in handy in times like this. Essentially they flash blue when we're together. Think of it as ID.

What's to stop it from getting its hands on one? Rory asked.

Well first off he'd have to travel to Occi to get one. This was taken off a very handsome Vinvocci scientist. I asked him if I could hold his weapon and there was a slight miscommunication. Jack said with a cheeky grin. But it all worked itself out in the end, multiple times as a matter of fact. But I digress. And in any case, every time it changed shape it would have to re-inject itself. The action would expel the implant and even if it didn't, human bodies aren't that precise, it could easily wind up on the bottom of his foot.

Rory held out his palm.

Bit to the left please, I've already got a sub-dermal implant in there.

Yours was never taken out? I asked, surprised that in all this time I hadn't noticed.

No, it wasn't. He said tapping the center of his palm. No it wasn't. Was repeated a moment later. It still comes in handy, Rory continued. I mostly just use it for the weekly shopping list now a days.

What was it originally for? Asked Jack.

You'll find out in about nine or so years.

Fair enough. Jack said and injected the device into Rory's hand. Now, I'm going to do mine. He injected himself quickly and held out his palm. Rory and I did the same and the implants glowed a soft blue. Now, if something shows up here with my face, with any of our faces but no Smurf hand they're not who they say they are. I'll do the kids as well and Melody when she comes around.

You never answered my question. Rory pressed.

Actually I did. You just didn't like the answer. It's just as vulnerable in human form as you or I. We make our move when we can. Jack looked from one of us to the other before continuing. I don't understand, there wasn't any opposition when we went after the Thrashke.

That was different. I said. That was a hostile, invading force. We had no choice and if you'll remember we tried to talk but their message made it quite clear they weren't interested.

I recall we didn't try and talk that much if at all. Jack countered. But however you need to frame it, Red.

So, we're executioners now? I asked with a frown. This is different, Jack, a hell of a lot different. If the mimetic has been on Torchwood's radar for as long as you say it has, has there ever been an attempt to talk to it? To ask what it wants?

What it wants? He asked and I could hear the incredulity in his voice. Look... I know this isn't how you operate. I know things are all sunshine and fairy lights with the Doctor.

That's not how it was. I interjected but he kept on.

I was there too, Amy. I've been there with him and I saw. He arrived in the middle of the Blitz and people died. We went forward to Cardiff and people died. We went to Satellite 5 and  _people died_. All because he wanted to be a diplomat when in his hearts he's a warrior just as ruthless as I am but a hell of a lot less honest.

Jack... Rory began quietly but Jack didn't stop.

I know he...brought you over to his way of thinking. But a screwdriver is not going to solve the worlds problems. It's not going to be what stops this thing.

Jack- Rory tried again.

Reason and debate and mercy are helpless in the face of what we're dealing with. But you know what does work? A good old fashioned weapon and a bullet between the eyes.

Jack! He said sharply and our mate snapped to attention. Let's get one thing straight. The Doctor is my best mate, always will be but I function not by his morality but by my own. We were not brainwashed or indoctrinated or schooled. You'll not come into our home and speak to us as though we were green. My wife has killed. I have killed. What are you, 129 years old is it? You call me after you've done your first thousand. You tell me all the things you've seen, the things you've had to stomach, the hundreds of ways you've learned to take another humans life. I have been there and back again,  _child_ and my hands will never be clean _._  In fact let me assure you that for better or worse I have spilled more blood than you could possibly fathom. Don't patronize me...don't patronize  _us_  because we'd both rather not spill any more.

I had placed my hand in Rory's as he spoke and felt him absolutely thrumming with anger. This side of him scared me. I knew it was there. I knew it was the reason I was alive and safe but it still scared me and it worried me that he still had to carry it around with him.

For his part Jack had lost his smugness and I could see about a dozen apologies springing to his lips. But we all were interrupted by Tony.

Dad...? he called out cautiously, standing in the doorway to the living room. He looked concerned and apprehensive.

Coming, Tony. Rory said rising. He held out his hand for the sub-dermal injector and Jack handed it over.

Rory, I shouldn't have-

If you'll pardon me, I'm going to look after my son.

Jack nodded and sat back in his chair and we both watched Rory head off in Tony's direction. I briefly saw the upset look on our child's face before Rory lead him away.

I'm sorry, Amy. I'm not sure why I said those things.

He'll forgive you. But make no mistake my husband has only ever killed out of necessity.

What about you? He asked and I felt my jaw tighten.

No...me, I killed out of pleasure and revenge.

Jack looked stricken but I went on.

The woman who took my daughter, she was defeated, utterly and would likely have been killed or rendered a vegetable by her associates in a few moments. But that wouldn't have afforded me the pleasure of standing back and watching her essentially being electrocuted to death. She hurt my baby and left her tortured, confused and angry. She wrecked my insides and threatened to destroy my family. She left everyone of us scarred. I left her dead.

Jack swallowed again.

I meant...would you forgive me?

Oh, is that all? Of course. I said giving him a bright smile.

Should I...find other accommodations for the night? He asked.

Of course not. Friends and family fight. A spirited row is how you know you're still in good graces. Go to bed, Jack. That's an order.

Yes, ma'am. He said giving me a little salute and going off to the spare room.

I got up slowly and crept as quietly as I could to Tony's bedroom and found the door open a crack. I could just hear our son talking.

You put a tiny blue Christmas light in my hand and you tell me there's nothing to worry about?

It's not a Christmas light, it's just...think of it as identification. Whenever you're around me or your mum or Uncle Jack or your sisters that light is going to flare. Sort of like a technological how-do-you-do.

But I know what you all look like. Which means there's something else out there that looks like you guys but isn't?

You're very clever, you know. Rory said and without even being able to see him I could hear the pride in my husbands voice as he spoke. Tony, there are things in this world that your Mum and I can't control but we still want to protect you from them all the same. I would tear this world apart to protect you all, you know that?

I know, but I'm not a kid anymore. If there's something to fight, I can fight it with you.

No. Rory said firmly. Absolutely not. I fought, for so many years I fought so you didn't have to. Just trust me. Do you trust me?

Of course, Dad.

Good boy. Now, I'm sorry we woke you.

Are you angry with Uncle Jack?

Yeah, but I'll get over it. Go back to bed, alright?

Ok. Dad?

Yeah?

You can't protect me from everything, you know?

Rory spoke only after a long pause.

I can damn well try. Sleep well, son.

I quickly hurried back to our bedroom beating Rory there and managing not to look like an eavesdropper. When he came into the bedroom I was reading, or at least pretending to.

Get an earful, did we? He asked with a grin.

It's not fare that your ears aren't plastic anymore but you're still creepy good at hearing.

Don't blame me, blame the universe, I have no idea how or why they still kind of work like this.

Come to bed. I said opening my arms to embrace him. To my surprise he made short work of settling down against me. Jack got you rattled didn't he? I asked.

I don't think rattled is the right word. Frustrated. Low level enraged. He treats us sometimes as though we were just out on a romp with the Doctor. Amy.. do you think about Kovarian?

All the time.

What do you think?

That she got off too easy. That I would have liked to have taken my time with her. That I wanted to draw out the pain for her. And I know that somewhere, in this universe she's still out there. And that just makes me want to hunt her down all the more.

Rory nodded, I hadn't expected judgment but I was still relieved I didn't receive any.

Jack told me something awhile back. He said he'd met a few people who've met the Doctor over the years and what he'd noticed is they're all hardened. A bit more calloused.

I call bullshit on that. There's a difference between being callous and battle ready. What's wrong with that? The Doctor doesn't make people hard. He makes people prepared.

When you killed the Thraske...how did you feel?

I don't know. So much of it happened so fast. Scared. Energized.

I looked at Rory and paused for a moment before continuing.

Righteous. I felt righteous. I said before glancing at my husband cautiously. He looked deep in thought and at first I wasn't sure if he would say anymore. But then he started to speak.

In 1791 I found myself locked up in Prison de l'Abbaye in Paris. Actually I wasn't in the actual prison, it was overflowing and they had us locked in a horse stall.

Wait, why were you in jail?

It was during the French Revolution at the height of what would later be known as the Terror. All clergy who refused to swear an oath to the new government were branded as refractory priests and jailed to await the guillotine. There was this particular guard, vile man, took a great deal of joy in tormenting us, especially the nuns, bragging about what he'd done to those who'd come before us. I could sense he was getting closer to making good on his promises and we were getting closer to our appointment with the National Razor. I told my fellow captives we were leaving one night. I didn't elaborate on how. When the moment presented itself I went to work on the corral door. There were no bars, just a heavy lock and a wooden structure. I used the weapon in my hand to make quick work of the lock, then knowing the chaos that would ensue I set the hay we'd been making our beds on fire. My fellow brothers and sisters didn't know what I was and I didn't elaborate. I only told them to run. Get out, steal some clothing and run. God has enough martyrs, I said. We started shouting, Fire! Fire! And so they came with buckets of water and we pushed our way out. My fellow captors scattered. But I waited for him. I hid in the shadows and once the fire was out and he was alone I stepped out. He swore and lunged at me. I made certain he saw my face, I wanted him to know it was me, I wanted him to know this was for every indignity, every time he'd pissed in our food, every time he'd assaulted an innocent, every time he'd threatened a woman with rape. I wanted him to know I was bringing justice. Righteous justice.

What did you do? I asked. Rory rarely spoke like this to me. He almost always shielded me from the price he paid to protect the Pandorica.

I garroted him. With a chain attached to manacles. I watched his face turn purple and his tongue flop out. I watched the life leave his body...Jesus, Amy I'm sorry. What am I doing? I shouldn't be saying this to you.

It's ok, really it is.

Well...my only point was that to avoid summary execution I summarily executed someone. I'm not proud of that. I'm disgusted by that. I'm no innocent neither of us are but to so casually mention killing this creature.

It's not even about whether or not it deserves it...it's the machinery of it all. The assumption. The marching orders.

We're not bounty hunters or hired guns for that matter. He added.

I'm not sure what we are. I said quietly and he agreed.

We tried to sleep after that but too many dark thoughts had been dragged to the surface. I'd assured Jack no more than a half hour ago that Rory had only ever killed out of necessity. Now I found that i was wrong. Doctor, I know that one of the reasons you keep us about is to keep you in check, to remind who you are you before you go too far. When we were in Mercy, I scolded you, I said this is what happens when you travel alone too long. And it's true, when you don't have someone with you, the darkness takes over. But there's a flip-side isn't there?

What happens when  _we_ travel too long without  _you_?

All our love, Doctor.

Love Amy and Rory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein I yammer through my Author's Notes.
> 
> I've always liked the duality of the Doctor and his randomly applied morality. He has committed genocide more than once but he won't just fire a gun and end a conflict. He's come close but he's never pulled the trigger. And as he says in ATCM "How many people have died because of my mercy?" It's a damn good question, how many people have died because he wields a screwdriver and not a weapon? Because he pretends he's not, for all intents and purposes, a god who regularly doles out life and death? I just wanted and needed Jack to be that voice of frustration, just as I needed Rory to set him straight. Rory is so much older and so much more battle weary than Jack could ever imagine and I wanted to parallel, just a bit, the fight I'd written earlier between Rory and the Doctor after the death of Older Amy where he calls him "boy". To Rory, in this moment, Jack is a child, complaining about things he can't yet even understand.
> 
> But the other side of the coin is that the Doctor took two young people, practically kids and showed them the expanse of the universe. A kissogram and a lackluster nurse. He turned them into warriors, weapons experts, strategists, makeshift TARDIS mechanics, negotiators, sociologists, ambassadors and much, much more. But not just that, he put them into situations where they had to make split second decisions, life or death decisions. That changes a person. They're not innocents and let's not pretend they're not adrenaline junkies who don't have a bit of suppressed blood-lust. Add this to the fact that they resent being ordered about, having the decision of what happens in this situation made without their input. This is all tied up in ego and guilt and rage and loss and shame and hypocrisy and a thousand other things and they've both left good guy/bad guy, white hat/black hat simplicity behind, even if they have trouble admitting it.
> 
> So many author's notes! But one last thing. Three years and one day ago today (I meant to get this posted on October 18th but I didn't finish it!), I opened a new file on my computer and decided I couldn't let go of Amy, Rory and 11. I wanted to give them one last adventure but I had no idea exactly how I'd do that. I really had no idea so many of you would come along with me. And I couldn't even dream of how long this would get or take.
> 
> My life over the past three years has been rough and it still is. I hope it gets better and easier soon, but my point is this story has been my lifeline. I run to it and focus on it when a lot of other things get too overwhelming and knowing that you guys are out there reading and enjoying and reviewing means so, so much to me. You have no idea.
> 
> We've come a long way but there's still more ahead.
> 
> A few more stories to be told.
> 
> A few more surprises.
> 
> A few more roads to travel down.
> 
> A few more tears.
> 
> And miles to go before we sleep.
> 
> 10/19/15


	220. October 15, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Amy Pond-Williams, Dr. Rory Williams and Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of October, 1960

Dear Mum and Daddy and Tony,

I miss you all and I do hope you're well. School has kept me very busy but I haven't forgotten about you. I'm taking English, Maths, History, Latin, French and Geography. Classes are longer than I'm used to, about 90 minutes and we alternate subjects depending on the day. I've been complimented on my French and my Latin. English is going well, Maths not so much and Geography is a bore. I'd rather visit a place than just stare at it in a book.

I've got a small band of friends here. Brigitta and I and a few other girls spend our free time together. We've also staked out our place in the school yard. We chose by the swings. There are still girls here that dislike me and for some of the same reasons they didn't like me back home. But others have alltogether different reasons which is kind of...comforting. That's weird isn't it? Some of the girls don't like me because I'm good at conjugation in French, Latin and English. I'm ok with that. I'd rather be disliked for something that I actually am or can do than the color of my skin.

I get called a Yank here sometimes but not as much as the other kids. When I tell the other kids you guys are sort of from here they nod and seem to think that makes sense. They say I'm American-ish but that it's not too annoying but that it explains why my accent is strange. I didn't know I had an accent until I came here.

I don't mind the cliques here because I finally feel like I'm part of a group, I'm not left out. The only time we're all sort of together and equal is when someone brings out a ball and we split up into teams for footy. It's surprisingly civilized.

We all hate the uniforms. They're just gray and dull. The skirt is gray, the blazer is gray, our socks are grey and the only color we can wear has to be the school colors, blue, and that goes right down to our hair ribbons. They're scratchy and the beanies we have to wear look pretty dumb. But you get a demerit if you're not "properly attired" and if you get so many demerits you lose your privileges. I don't want that to happen!

It's fun here and hard and busy and lonely and everything all at once. I miss all of you. I miss Manhattan and I miss Melody and I miss the TARDIS and the Doctor. But I'm ok and I don't want you all to worry.

I promise to write more soon but there's so much homework!

Love you all!

-Vickie

  


	221. November 8th, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of November, 1960

Dear Doctor,

Though I was all geared up for battle it seems as though for the time being, we stand down. Rory and I both thought we were to take on the Em Mem head to head as soon as possible but it won't be as simple as all that. It's hard to trace and track and find. For the most part now we just pore over the newspaper, clipping odd stories here and there, disappearances, strange deaths. It seems to favor New York but it's by no means bound to here. We find ourselves looking through The New York Times and The Guardian and Le Monde and  _Yomiuri-Hochi_  and so on and so on trying to find some sort of pattern. Right now, we're just a step behind and it's becoming clear this is going to drag on, maybe for some time.

So, life continues on. Rory is seeing patients as his practice grows by leaps and bounds. I'm writing and working on the rough draft of the next Cordelia Puddle story. I was invited to give a speech at Berkeley and participate in their Fictional Heroines of the 20th century symposium. Sounds rather exciting. Tony's grades have shown a slight improvement and Vickie writes to us all the time. Most recently she decided to regale us with tales of her first Guy Fawkes night. Rory and I voted today and by tomorrow afternoon Nixon will concede the election to President Elect Kennedy.

So, as I said, I suppose life is going on.

I'm already thinking about the holidays. Rory quickly flew out awhile back to see Vickie and inject her hand with the little blue Christmas light thing. That makes me feel quite a bit better. And now we can just focus on her coming home for Thanksgiving and boy could we all use a nice and uneventful Christmas.

Everything is technically ok, or as ok as it can be but I still feel tense.

I feel like there are shoes yet to drop.

All my love,

Amy


	222. November 14, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

14th of November, 1960

Dear Doctor,

I got an invite today on Facebook. Yeah, memorial pages get invites, you can just send out a mass notification to all your friends. It was to Laura's wake. I didn't mention her much but she was a good mate. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding.

Heart attack. Gone. Just like that. Left behind a wife and kids. I'm grieving for someone who grieved for me decades ago. That's strange and...I don't know. Somehow vulgar? If that makes sense. Like we lied to her.

Doctor, when we're gone, if you want to come back for Vickie or see if you could coax Tony into a short trip round the moon, you have our permission. I wouldn't want some silly idea that you have that we wouldn't approve to hold you back, alight? You're family and they'd like that I think.

There's just not enough time to pack in all the living we want to do, is there?

Vickie sent another delightful and bright letter to us today. And I contrast that with what I just read in the paper that four six year old little black girls were escorted to New Orleans schools today by US Marshall's. I searched the internet to find out more. They'll be shouted at and have things hurled at them. Parents will pull their children out of school. One woman even goes so far as to daily threaten to poison one of the little girls.

On days like this I find myself thinking that if we hadn't found a place for Vickie I might have given her up to you. I know the future because I've been there. But I don't have the scope that you do. I can't see us the way you do. I think this planet and it's people are small and vile and petty sometimes. And yes, quite arrogantly, I admit, I see myself and Rory and separated from it, distant, removed.

What's happening today in New Orleans is either inhuman or terribly human. Neither answer is comforting.

That Amy, that version of me who said to you all those years ago, It's starting to feel like running... I remember her. I remember what she was feeling at the time and I understand, I do. But on days like this I'd like to run. I'd like to grab my family and friends and pile us all into the TARDIS and run.

But I guess that's what life is, looking back at your younger self with undisguised condescension. Tsking as you cast a glance that just says; Oh, honey, look at you, thinking you actually know what you're talking about, what you want, what's ahead.

I suppose somewhere in the future I'm doing just that, looking back at myself right here, right now, writing this letter and so sure of what she wants and even surer of what she should have wanted before.

Can you tell it's very late at night. You know how I get at night. Can't sleep and all those negative thoughts come flooding in. I think that's one of the things I always loved abut the TARDIS there was never any nighttime per se. Sure it runs riot with a body clock. Well, a human body clock but it always seemed worth it.

You know how I'm afraid of the dark.

A grown woman and still afraid of the dark.

Sorry, I know this letter has been a bit of a jumble. But, do you do that too, Doctor? Look back at an old regeneration and just shake your head sadly because he thought he had it all figured out?

Oh, honey, look at you.

Thinking you actually know what you're talking about.

What you want.

What's ahead.

All my love, Doctor.

Love. Amy


	223. November 15, 1960

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Doctor Rory Williams to Miss Victoria Lake Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of November, 1960

My Dear Jitterbug,

It is so nice to hear from you. Let me say your mother and I are so, so happy things are going well there for you. You have to promise that you'll tell us should anything change. We don't want you to feel as though you're adrift or isolated. We are always here for you. Always.

Are you good at footy? I don't recall you showing much interest in it when you were on this side of the pond. I was always a bit rubbish but I can tell you the Doctor used to boast about what an amazing player he was. He took Amy and I to several games, one in 1966 actually. It was fun but I never saw his supposed prowess.

Things are well here but you must do me a favor. I know I mentioned this on my last pop round but it's very, very important. No one is coming to visit you without notice. That's an odd sentence, I know but I need you to know and understand. Neither your mother nor I or your sister or brother are coming. If someone does arrive it is not them. Do you understand? I don't believe this will happen. I don't. But if it does I need you to use what I've included. It's just an envelope, there's nothing inside it but if you break the seal Melody and Jack will arrive...immediately. You know how Melody can hop place to place and time to time. Jack has recently acquired a teleport as well. Nothing fancy, mostly just an Earth hopper. Just remember if someone shows up claiming to be us and they don't have that blue light in their hand, run. Break the seal and run.

Until then, keep it close to you, keep it on you, always. I'll explain more on Thanksgiving.

Now, don't give it another thought, alright? I promise you everything is going to be ok.

Alright, now I want you to have a bit of fun at school but let's limit the demerits, shall we? I am sorry the uniforms are so drab and that everything is so predictably  _British_. I know the schools here were just a touch more freewheeling. I suppose everything has it's trade off, eh? If it makes you feel any better your mum and sister and I all had to wear uniforms too. Red jumpers, black trousers terribly dull. And I was so small the jumper just swallowed me, combine that with a bowl haircut and I looked altogether ridiculous. Perhaps that's a rite of passage for all Pond's. And the Doctor isn't immune either. His entire race is nothing but heavy, posh robes and really brilliant hats. He keeps them shuttered away but quite against his will he showed them to me once. I think I'd saved his life earlier in the day and guilted him into it. He begged me not to take a picture but I believe there's one buried on my mobile somewhere. I'll try and fish it out when you come round.

Can you tell yet that I miss you, Jitterbug? I'm just prattling on in this letter because I'm in no hurry to end it.

Oh don't forget to write your Christmas list, alright? Have at least a rough draft of it ready by Thanksgiving! Haha.

Ok...I shall endeavor to let you go now..

Perhaps I'm underestimating you, my little time traveler. You're no novice to danger, running about with your sister and brother-in-law. But I still worry, your mother and I both worry. Just stay safe and trust me, love, everything will be ok.

Your Daddy loves you!

-Dear Old Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I just wanted to get a few of these chapters out because I want to focus completely on what I have planned for Christmas. I like to give Rory a big Christmas-y chapter when I can and this year is no different. It's very early Black Friday morning, around 3AM on 11/27/15 which means I have 28 days to get this done. Then, I think we're in for a skip ahead as we barrel towards 1965. What happens in '65, you ask?
> 
> Spoilers.


	224. December 24, 1960

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of December 1960

Dear Doctor,

It's Christmas Eve and I am surrounded by family.

Melody broke a few rules (what else is new?) and delivered a webcam to Edwin and Dorabella. She's much too sick to travel and this was the only way we could still all be together. Don't worry, she promises to retrieve it! Due to the time difference we pushed things up a bit and had our Christmas Eve feast a little earlier than normal. Even with all he'd seen Edwin was still amazed at the tech.

And you can see me? He asked incredulously.

Yes, can you see us? I replied.

We can! Why this is extraordinary!

And so we were all together. Amy and I, all three children, Jack. Just a quiet Christmas, just how we like it.

There was no snow at school, it's so nice to come back home to snow! Vickie said cheerfully.

Says the goober who doesn't have to shovel. Tony said good-naturedly as he handed her a candy cane.

I think it's a shame that you can get snow only one time of the year. All the seasons should be mixed up.

I'm sure once global warming has it's final say exactly that will happen. Amy said wryly.

What's global warming? Vickie asked.

Unfortunately you'll find that out eventually. Her mother replied.

I'm afraid snow in the summertime is impossible, young Vickie. Edwin said from his monitor. But it is a rather fantastical idea.

It was at this point, Doctor, that I broke into the conversation.

Actually, you can have snow in the summer. I remember a time where it started snowing in April and there were some places in the world where it didn't stop for months and months and months.

Tell us, Dad. You always tell a story at Christmas. Tell us! Tony asked and I have to admit, it was good to know my son was interested.

Yeah, tell us a story, Rory. Jack pressed. I could do with a good yarn.

And so I told them the story of the Poverty Year. I told them the story of snow and rain and ruined crops and near starvation. I told them about importing soil and sun spots and the end of the world. I told them about setting fire to the crops and dancing for hours in the orange light. I told them about tending to a farm for 10 years. I told them about another chapter of my life.

I didn't tell them about Konstantin, not directly at least, not in detail. My Kostya...I kept that story to myself.

But I will tell you.


	225. Chapter 225

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of information before you begin. The Pale of Settlement was a section of Imperial Russia where Jews were allowed to reside. They were largely excluded, if not outright forbidden (barring special circumstances) from living outside of the region, literally beyond the Pale. It was Catherine the Great's last ditch effort after multiple tries to exclude the Jews from Russia completely had failed. During this time the Jews in this area were subject to terrible treatment, they were poor, they were hungry and they were subjected to repeated bloody anti-Jewish riots called pogroms. The terrible conditions helped bring about a mass emigration of Jews from the Pale to the US between 1881 and 1914.
> 
> I completely made up Awlchester. To the best of my knowledge no such place exists.
> 
> The Victorian era doesn't begin until Queen Victoria is enthroned in 1837 so we're dealing with mostly Pre-Victorian time here.
> 
> In an attempt to be as accurate as possible I studied up a bit on farming, grain storage, dry ice and just daily (pre) Victorian living. Properly sealed certain grains can be stored for upwards of 30 years.
> 
> Ever since I ready Crime and Punishment and watched Dr. Zhivago I've been a tremendous fan of Russian diminutives. A diminutive is a standard and I believe in most cases an affectionate nickname. think Bobby, for Bob. Beth or Lizzie for Elizabeth, etc. The diminutive of Konstantin (Kon-stan-teen) is Kostya, pronounced Coast-yah and the diminutive of Arthur is Artyusha pronounced, I believe Art-yoo-sha. All of this is according to the internet so I hope its right.
> 
> I slipped in a line from Nurse Redfern but it's minor and pretty buried.
> 
> I dillied an dallied about posting this. In fact I've been staring at it on my computer screen for the last 2 hours. But enough is enough, I suppose. At the end of the day this chapter may be a touch controversial...but I stand by it.
> 
> Did you expect this to be over 22 thousand words? Cause I sure didn't. LOL.
> 
> Ok, I think that's all! Allons-y!

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**25th of December 1960**

Dear Doctor,

When we're young we all have our favorite subjects in school. For Amy it was, obviously, Ancient Rome. It fascinated her, really for as long as I've known her if she wasn't talking about you she was talking about Romans. For Melody, it was archaeology, though as that wasn't exactly a mainstay of the British school system she did most of her studying of that on her own.

For me, it was volcanoes. I was obsessed. Talked about them incessantly. I was incredibly disappointed to learn that the last active volcano in the UK had gone off about 60 million years ago.

Once, in our second set of memories when Amy did have a dad he had to go back to Scotland for about a week during our holiday break. Perhaps because he'd briefly lost his mind he asked we three kids if we'd like to go. We'd been so bored that we jumped at the chance. Anything for a change of scenery. No sooner had we all agreed did I make a request.

Please, please, please can we go see the Isle of Skye? Please? I'll do absolutely anything.

Now, this was no easy request and more than a bit presumptuous on my part. But as I caused the least trouble of the three of us, Augustus bewilderingly acquiesced.

This was my first time visiting Scotland but not my last. I went there as a Roman when you were more than likely to hear it called by its Gaelic name of _t-Eilean Sgiathanach_. I even lived there for a bit in the late 1700's harvesting kelp and just enjoying a few decades of silence before moving on.

But anyway, at some point during our journey we four made it and I stood there, finally looking on the dark beauty of the Cuillin. Black and sharp, not just rising towards the sky but nearly attacking it, daring it to bend a bit lower and promising to pierce it if it did. Of course I didn't say any of that then. I was about 11 and I'm pretty sure all I said was, Wow...cool. And it was both wow and cool. A real volcano, an extinct one mind you but no less real. 65 million years ago this place was alive with a thick, viscous igneous heartbeat. I was in love. We couldn't stay long or at least not as long as I wanted but we got to walk around a bit and I picked up a few rocks to take home. But my favorite is the one Amy and Mels picked together. It was small and shiny like glass, smooth on some sides and rugged on others. I still have it. I've become very tactile over years and things like that give me comfort. It sits on my bedside table right next to the cubes you gave us, which by the way help that tactile thing immensely. Did I mention that? That it's a part of the evening, a close to the day that Amy and I so look forward to. Holding those cubes, turning them slowly in our hands, feeling them pulse and beat as those pictures keep coming and coming and coming. But I digress.

My point is, that one trip just accelerated my love of volcanoes to the nth degree. I asked for books about them for Christmas. I looked up pictures online. I imagined what we'd do and what a hero I'd be if a heretofore unknown volcano, ancient and raging and ready to unleash it's full force suddenly appeared in Leadworth.

Wait...am I telling you things you already know? Is that why you took us to the hotel atop the Olympic Mons on Mars. Good Lord, am I only now realizing you took us to a volcano for me? Remember the shield room? That flat panel of reinforced glass where you could stare down directly into the caldera? That was amazing. Well, a very belated thank you, Doctor.

Anyway, I became a fount of volcano facts, annoying anyone who got near to me. Over the years as I got older and Amy and her legs and Mels and her hi-jinks became more of a distraction I talked a bit less about volcanoes but they were still a hobby of mine.

For a good chunk of 1802 I felt like I was forgetting something. I couldn't place my finger on it. We've never talked about my brain, Doctor. I don't think a human brain is supposed to contain the information, the facts and flotsam and jetsam of nearly 2000 years. Every so often you'd expect there to be just a memory dump, a disposal of both the necessary and unnecessary. I worried for the longest time I might lose those people and places and experiences that had meant so much to me. But I didn't. Because you see, my brain wasn't human, it was auton. I could always recall, it's just that sometimes it took awhile. Imagine looking through a little pocket address book for a name and number but you can't quite remember how the name is spelled.. Now imagine a local directory for one like Leadworth. Then New York. Then 50 New York's. It may take a bit, but you find it. Now I know you already know this because I know a bit about how your brain looks from when I peeked at one of your anatomy books. At least you having them gives a bit more credence to you being _real_ doctor. I know you can separate your hemispheres, I know you have an extra lobe and that your brain is literally larger than a human one. I also know you've existed your whole life as what you are so you may not understand what it's like to have a patchy, human memory that's easily swayed by emotion and faulty recollection. Up until I became an auton I had been exactly what I was all my life too. So despite my new, almost endless capacity for memory I still thought like a human and cataloged things like a human and occasionally some stuff got lost down the long corridors of my mind like a human and it was up to me to root through the stacks of my memory and find it.

And that's how I was. I knew I could just find it and figure out what the devil was bothering me I'd feel better. This of course doesn't explain why all of it, all those memories, and I do mean all of them, Doctor, are still there. But why look a gift horse in the mouth?

So this feeling of unease persisted until about 1805 when it finally came to me.

Tambora.

Of course. Tambora.

I'd only just arrived to the small little town called Awlchester. Traveling under the guise of clergy was always helpful and it limited the intrusive questions. It was convenient and I needed a new place and a new identity. I scouted out the location, found a nearly abandoned farm and decided to purchase it. I arrived months later under the cover of darkness with the Pandorica and climbed it as my new home

Why this town, you may ask? Why anywhere? Why not? The Pandorica did limit my travel a bit but because it was never taxing to move it, only awkward, I didn't tend to let it be the deciding factor.

But I know what you're really asking, or what you will be asking when I'm done. I know even though we're not together right now and you're reading this miles and years apart from me. Why did I choose these people to help? Why this town?

I suppose the answer is because what was coming was so big and so impossible to take or deal with as a whole that I needed to see it in parts. If I could just shield one or two or ten then at least I would have done something.

So I stayed. And I farmed.

I had been naive in thinking being in the clergy would shield me from certain...inconveniences. In the early church celibacy and chastity were encouraged if not strictly enforced. In 304 AD at the Council of Elvira they tried to forbid priests from marrying or having children In 325 AD at the Council of Nicea the idea of a ban on priests marrying was rejected. Things went back and forth like that time and time again. It took 10 full centuries for mother church to put it down as an undeniable tenet. In 1139 a new Council convened and prevented priests to marry. This was reaffirmed in 1563 at the Council of Trent.

This would have been all well and good were I still at this point a Catholic priest but I admit, I occasionally did a bit of hopping depending on what was safest for the Pandorica and what would benefit the people that I was amongst as well. In the end I know the Order of the Mass as well as I know The Book of Common Prayer.

My point being that with the Reformation I was Church of England and that in 1549 celibacy was abolished for the priesthood. My larger point is that I was on the market whether I wanted to be or not and I'd needed to come up with a great deal of clever lies and excuses to avoid birds over the past few hundred.

Now the odd thing is Awlchester is one of those strange little butterfly effect things. What I mean is, over those nearly two thousand years I did things, saw things, tasted things, lived places, met people that don't exist in this version of the universe. Something happened at some point that skewed time just a enough so that these little anomalies were created. Maybe the anomaly was me or you or Amy but in any case don't bother looking for Awlchester on a modern map. It doesn't exist and as far as this timeline goes, it never has.

I liked my town and though I had initially tried to keep to myself I did find I was getting more and more involved. Awlchester didn't actually have a vicar and initially they thought I'd been sent. I said that wasn't exactly the case but offered to help when and where I could. Helping whenever I could quickly turned into sermons and hearing confessions and weddings and baptisms and administering the rites of extreme unction.

When I wasn't doing that, I was farming. As I said the farm had been abandoned and first I went to work in repairing the barn. By this time I found carpentry easy and it was always more important to see Amy, by way of the Pandorica, housed safely and securely. I took care of that first and then started on the house. Everything from the floor to the roof needed some type of repair and it took me months to make it livable. What annoyed me the most was the fact that while physically I never tired I couldn't exactly be seen working around the clock. So, I had to find other ways to pass the time. I read a lot during those years. I tried to write a bit but I found it harder to keep up with a journal then than I do now. Plus, I traveled light. Usually no more than a few clothes and the Pandorica. To carry my papers, my writings would have been more of a burden than a release.

While I was working on the house I was also tending to the fields. They were thick with weeds and in general an overgrown mess. Nature had started to reclaim it as its own but it was going to have to battle with me first. I started by repairing the fencing. Next I asked a neighbor for the loan of a few cattle and I set them to the field trusting that they take care of the overgrown grass and be glad for the meal. I returned the cows after a while and purchased a horse, a mower and a plow. After I got rid of any remaining thistles and saplings I went to work cutting the remaining grass which I dried, bailed and then stored in the barn. With the ground cleared I started a standard crop rotation of corn, soybeans, wheat etc. paying close attention to the seasons and little attention to the markets. I didn't need the money. Wealth travels even through time and in one way or another I was always still living off the fortune I had made in Rome which had begat one comfortable life after another. But I liked to work. I liked making the soil grow something that hadn't been there before. I liked keeping busy and contributing and for the most part I just liked being in the fields sometimes carrying on a conversation with Amy...sometimes Vitus. I liked being surrounded by life and I suppose at times like that I felt truly part of the world instead of just someone or something that moved within it...through it. And yet...

Some collection of years hit me harder than others. This was one of them. When this all began I felt the weight of what was before me. All the endless days without Amy, without anything familiar. It hurt and it scared me and there were times...dark times when I felt...suicidal. I never would have done anything. Not ever. I was there to protect Amy and nothing, nothing could deter me from that. But that heavy despondency would sometimes roll in like a fog and I would lose myself in it. the running years, the fighting years, the years with my son and my family or friends I made along the way helped immensely. But there were times like this when I felt sick, exhausted, weary. Every step was a burden. Every smile...rather insincere. I realize now that I was depressed, clinically so and were it not for the saving grace that was the monotony of farm life...I'm not sure what I would have done.

I would venture into town often to visit with "friends" and townspeople, to spend time with someone who was sick or counsel someone downhearted. Lillie the daughter of the gentleman who ran the post office had set her cap for me and wasn't shy about saying it. As I had to run to the post quite often she was nearly impossible to avoid.

What is it you get shipped so often, Vicar? And why is it so heavy?

It's actually a special sort of soil, Lillie.

The dirt around here doesn't suit your needs then?

No the soil here is fine this just has a little extra...spark to it. If that makes sense.

I know a thing or two about sparks, Vicar. She'd said and then blushed clearly disbelieving that had come out of her mouth. You must think I'm terrible. She'd added quickly..

I think no such thing. I reassured her with a chuckle. She was just so young, frightfully young, a teenager worried about being an old maid, no doubt. And I had tried time and time again to put her off as gently as possible.

You're not terrible. I insisted. You're just very young and you should be out making mischief with other young people.

You presided over the wedding ceremony for my friend Ruth just last month. Do you ever think about marriage, Vicar?

I cleared my throat before speaking.

I do...and that's why I joined the priesthood. I wanted to be married to Mother Church and I am.

Oh... She said with disappointment and at least I'd put her off, again, for the time being. Should I have Jake put your bags of dirt in your cart for you.

No, no need to trouble anyone. I can manage.

Lillie was a very sweet young woman and so were Audra and Pearl and Katherine and Rebecca. They were all very nice girls and I gave them quite a wide berth and was perhaps a bit extra pious around them. The next town and the next time I moved I decided I was going back to being Catholic. A lot less women to dodge.

I understood their...ferocity for lack of a better world. Awlchester was tiny, and while we were on the way to somewhere we were also still in the middle of nowhere. Quite a bit off the beaten path so not many people ever came in or out and there were a few more women than men.

The fact that we were close-knit and cut off is what made the strangers arrival so unique.

I was in the middle of a sermon on unity and fellowship and what they really meant when I first saw Konstantin. He was unfamiliar to me, terribly underfed and he looked nervous. He hesitated at the back of the church, twisting his cap back and forth in his hands and seemingly unable to make up his mind as to whether he should stay or go. I kept speaking occasionally glancing in his direction while not wanting to burden him with my scrutiny. He was wearing a _kosovorotka,_ linen trousers and and _valenki_ boots.

And after 5 or so minutes he had clearly and finally decided to slip out and leave just as quickly and quietly as he'd come. But I didn't want that. I didn't want him to flee He'd come here for a reason. I had to think fast.

I am reminded of the words in Matthew Chapter 6 Verse 19. I began. Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. And just to add to that, not that our Lord's words aren't insufficient I'd like to quote an old Russian proverb, До́брое бра́тство — лу́чшее бога́тство. Which translates to "Good brotherhood is the best wealth."

The stranger had stopped no doubt from hearing his native language. So memory served and I had judged his clothes right.

As you leave here today I ask you to look around at the treasures you do have. You family and friends the wealth of brotherhood and love. Now, go out into the world and live His word. The peace of the Lord be upon you.

I dismissed the congregation and they rose and exited, the stranger not escaping their attention. He was a curiosity but none of them seemed quite brave enough to want to stay to question him. For that I was glad. That was, after all, my job.

You speak Russian? He asked me as I drew closer. He was even thinner than I had first thought. His clothes were old and worn but still he shown in them. He was the same height as I was, strong build, broad shoulders, dark, dark hair that curled at the ends ever so slightly and eyes that were almost a bit too dark to be brown...almost. His skin was shade or so darker than mine and I noticed that despite the chill in the air he was covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Yes, I spent a few years there off and on. I may have picked up a bit. Are you alright? Are you hungry?

I watched him swallow and nod. A brief coughing fit overtook him and I could see to my surprise that it caused him great embarrassment.

Alright then, we could go down the pub if you like. There'll no doubt be some tasty roast chicken on offer maybe a glass of port or some ale?

I don't have any money. He said his voice and his jaw tight.

No worries, it would be my pleasure. My name is Arthur, by the way.

Let me explain two things here, Doctor. You know how the TARDIS translates everything for us? Well...it stopped for me. Thankfully the Latin came pre-programmed but everything else I've learned on my own. I think my connection to the ship severed once I became an auton and there went all the perks. I had learned Russian a great many years before but I hadn't used it in ages. The next thing is that after awhile I started going by my middle name. Rory was more popular in certain times and places than others but I found that Arthur tended to always be a good fit no matter the location or century. Even now someone may say it in a shop and I'll still turn my head.

My name is Konstantin.

Nice to meet you, Konstantin. Let's go get something to eat, shall we?

We got more than a few looks at the pub but I'm not sure Konstantin noticed. He ate heartily, stopping only occasionally to cough and it made me wonder when was the last time he had eaten. He asked for a second helping and then a third and in-between bites he told me a little about where he'd been. He was from Kiev, he said. He was 22 and had lived there until he left a little over a year ago. He didn't elaborate beyond that. Not much at least. I couldn't tell at that point whether he just wasn't in a talkative mood or whether he just wasn't the talkative sort.

I ate a bit myself but most let him just sit in peace. I myself didn't enjoy being prodded for information and I did my best to respect it in others.

He finished his meal and when I saw him begin to twist his hat again nervously I knew he was ready to leave. He offered a soft _spasibo_ in gratitude for the food and rose to leave. I paid our bill and also got to my feet.

There's not more of them coming, I hope. Robert, the barkeep said under his breath but still just clearly enough to be heard. The suspicion I saw in his eyes was also noticeable in those of the other patrons and I felt this anger surge in me. Anger that had gotten me into trouble before.

More of who, Robert? I started loudly. Dark haired people? Russian people? People who wear clothes dissimilar from yours? Or do you mean Jewish people? Let's not hide in euphemism, let's say what we mean.

I think I realized at this point I was raising my voice but my patience in these matters had worn thin generations ago. I remembered the slanderous, murderous blood libels of the Middle Ages, The Rhineland massacres of 1096, the banishing of Jews from England in 1290, followed by France and Austria. I remembered quite distinctly hearing them being blamed for the Black Plague. I remembered. Even when I didn't want to remember. When I wanted to forget the things I had seen I remembered. And if I could help it, I wouldn't allow even a seed of it to take root here.

I didn't mean anything by it, Father. The pub had gone silent and I was glad. I wanted them to hear.

But you did. You did mean something. And so help me you will not profess to be one thing on Sunday and something else for the remaining 6 days of the week. You will not let some black mistrust fester in your heart. Not while I am its shepherd.

I took a deep breath trying to reign in my temper.

I know you're a better man than that, Robert. I concluded giving him a smile that I wasn't exactly feeling at the moment.

Properly chastised, at least for the moment, he nodded. Willing to let it drop I nodded as well and left. Konstantin had already gone outside.

I wasn't sure he'd be anywhere in sight. I'd half expected that he might have run off but he was there.

That shouting...that was about me. He stated rather than asked.

It was. But it's alright now.

He cast a look of doubt towards the building we'd just left.

No, it isn't alight. When people have that look in their eyes it's never alright.

I understand.

You couldn't possibly. He scoffed. But, I thank you for the meal and for your kindness.

He and I had been keeping pace with one another and suddenly he started to pull ahead.

Where will you go? I asked.

I'll know when I arrive. But it isn't here.

So you have nowhere to stay for the night?

I'll be fine.

You don't even have an _armiak_. I called after him. Last night was cold, as I suspect you may well remember. Tonight promises to be even colder.

He hesitated, his certainty faltering as I'm sure he remembered how he had passed the previous night and how loathe he was to do it again.

You can stay with me for the night if you like. It's warm and dry and there's food.

He finally came to a stop and turned to face me.

I have imposed on you enough.

You haven't imposed on me at all. I have only offered things I'd hope you'd accept.

He didn't seem quite able to say the word yes. Instead he just nodded but that was good enough for me. He was just a boy and I was relieved that his machismo hadn't so fully taken root so as to propel him alone into the cold and the dark rather than accepting a humble offer.

I lead him to my wagon, we climbed aboard and I pointed the horses home.

The only thing he did say on our trip was, Your Russian is pretty good.

My home was large, too large for just me in fact but I did love it. I was always reminded in subtle ways of how not human I was. It's not easy living as a fixed point, Doctor. But there were times when I felt more normal than other. This was one of them. Gas lighting was on its way in the years to come but for now I loved my candles and my oil lamps. I loved adding coal to my stove. I loved getting water from the pump. When I didn't hate it I loved this life. I liked the quiet. I was a landowner on an envious piece of ground of which even the town squire was jealous. Because I didn't need to eat (though I did enjoy it) and because I could work when others couldn't I always had a surplus that I could give to the laborers and the poor, I always had money I could pass along. I always had something more and I was so, so happy to share it.

Just this one place, Doctor. I couldn't save the world but if I could just save this one place that had to be worth something. While the other patches and parts of rural England struggled in squalor and cramped spaces and not enough food I tried my best to make Awlchester something different. Can I pretend that ego wasn't involved... No, of course not. I've seen the way you preen at praise, at being called the hero and had I held a mirror up at any point I might have caught glimpses of myself doing the same thing. I'm was no messiah. Just an old man who wanted to do good but also wouldn't shrug off a pat on the back.

For this entire time I had only spoken to Konstantin in Russian. I was unsure as to how much if any English he understood and though my use of the language was rusty it was all coming back to me. Once we were home I started to work at the coal range making supper. The bread would need to bake and the stew I'd been planning would need to cook.

This is yours? All of it?

Yes, all mine. I replied with a smile. He was standing and looking around a bit tentatively.

Brothers, sisters, a wife, children? He asked in quickly.

No. just me. Do you have siblings? I asked.

Not anymore. He said shortly as he sat down in a chair at my table.

I paused before saying, I'm sorry to hear that.

He only shrugged in reply and again I decided to keep quiet. Instead I offered him a glass of water. He took it and drank eagerly and it became apparent that while he wouldn't ask for anything he certainly did _want_ things.

I talked because he didn't seem to want to. I kept things fairly vague, just mentioning my time in Russia without being specific like being under the rule of Peter the Great some 120 years prior and long before that during the Rurik Dynasty of the late 800's. He barely managed to keep his eyes open during his second meal and to save him the embarrassment I proclaimed myself to be exhausted and heading to bed. I shepherded him to what served as the guestroom and the bed that resided there. He climbed in without argument not even bothering to remove his boots. I bid him goodnight and shut the door softly.

He found me the next morning in the barn milking the cow.

You should not have let me sleep so long. Only children sleep this late in the day and lazy children at that.

I chose not to comment on the fact that waking him up as though I were his mother might have made him feel even more childish.

You seemed so comfortable I saw no reason to trouble you.

He paused and appeared reluctant to admit something yet finally unable to stop himself.

That mattress...I have never slept on such a mattress. What was it?

Feathers. I said simply.

Feathers? He asked incredulously. You must be wealthy...and yet you seem to know what you're doing here. He said gesturing to the cow. This land, this is yours?

It is. It was a bit wild when I got it but I believed I've tamed it as best as I can.

Konstantin nodded shortly and then began to look around the barn.

What is that? He asked gesturing towards the Pandorica.

That is...a piece of limestone. I purchased it a long time ago with the intention of making a great sculpture. I don't suppose I've ever had the inclination to get around to it.

It appears as though you've started working the stone. He said. He'd approached it cautiously and ever so gently touched it. There was a time Doctor when I'd let no one near it but that felt like eons ago. Amy was safe inside there and nothing could harm her.

Yes, I just never could make up my mind what I wanted I to be.

Konstantin's attention now moved to the horses I had stabled. They whinnied in approval as he approached.

The Hackney is called Vesuvius and the Highland is Krakatoa.

That was the first moment that I saw him smile, Doctor and as I finished the milking I heard him speaking to them both softly.

Do you ride? I asked.

I haven't ridden for years and years. He said.

Would you like to? They do love a run out and I think they're about due. Plus I need to take a tour of the grounds and make sure everything is as it should be. You could come along, I'll take Krakatoa, Vesuvius seems to have taken a liking to you.

I didn't give him much time to consider it and soon enough we were saddled and on our way. Once we were out of the barn I regretted my impulsiveness. I hadn't paid close enough attention to his features. He didn't look well now that I could see him clearly. Whatever his body was attempting to fight off I wasn't certain it was winning. I set the pace and was determined to go slow.

This farm was nothing in comparison to the acreage I had in Rome centuries ago but I preferred this. I wanted something small and maintainable for one man. Actually it was a bit much for one man but only if that man needed to eat and sleep and rest which I never did. Planting had gone well and things were flourishing as I expected. Again, Konstantin who had been a bit shaky in the beginning but had evened out the more we rode, was silent, taking everything in.

You have no wife? No children? He asked me after awhile as though he couldn't recall or didn't believe my answer from the previous night.

No...just me.

He nodded and we went on in a silence that was heavy though not uncomfortable.

What's beyond there? he asked pointing to the wooded area that bordered my property.

Just forest I believe.

Konstantin brought Vesuvius to a stop and dismounted quickly. It was a good thing I followed because not long after he had disappeared into the thick of the overgrowth.

I..I really don't think there's anything back here. I said. But I was wrong, Doctor. We walked on and I followed him, God knows why, until finally we can to it.

Ha! As I thought! He called out triumphantly.

Suddenly we were standing before a depressed and sunken little house. Not as large as mine but in a similar state of disrepair as when I'd arrived.

How did you know this was back here? I asked.

He coughed hard before speaking. I didn't. I just had a feeling. The layout of this land didn't make sense. It felt as though there should be more. And there is. This is yours too. Rightfully yours. You should fell all this and either rebuild or raze the structure. You could nearly double the size of your farm and increase its profitability.

I was already starting to consider the idea. More land meant more crops. More crops meant more food to sell and give away to help the poor of the village. Already I was a bit lost in thought and already Konstantin was heading back. I followed, turning over sums in my head.

We rode back and let the horses cool down and graze. My guest seemed unclear as to his place now and to save him the worry I simply put down two bowls of porridge made of groats on the table.

I should leave after this meal. He said.

Where exactly are you headed?

London. I'm going to London.

Really, why is that?

He looked at me as though I were mad.

Because it's the city. Because there are many types of people there. Many languages, many different people and ideas and there are Russians, like myself. When we were leaving that was where people talked about going. The city. Any city. Any place but far away from where we came from.

These people you speak of, where are they? Why are you traveling alone? I asked him as gently as I could.

None of your affair. He said sharply. I've no reason to trust you. You or your kind.

I nodded as he was correct. It was none of my affair. He ate but with a good deal less vigor than the night before. His cough had worsened and was coming on more frequently now and I frowned as he seemed to grow paler by the moment.

I'll be leaving as soon as I finish this. He reiterated but I wasn't so sure.

Alright, I understand. But at least stay long enough for me to make you some bread for your journey. It's a long way to London by foot. Let me pack a few items for your trip.

He nodded and settled back into the chair and by this time I was suspecting influenza. It had swept through Awlchester earlier in the year and he seemed to be exhibiting all the signs. After awhile he fell asleep where he sat and it wasn't until the bread was done and I'd gone through the pretense of packing a small care package that I tried to rouse him. I called his name quietly and he opened bleary, barely focused eyes. He rose to stand and would have gone tumbling towards the floor had I not been there to catch him.

As I'm sure you've learned over the years, Doctor, sick people are a lot easier to care for than people who are still proclaiming they're not sick. I carried him back to the spare bedroom, unlaced his boots and essentially tucked him in. There was not much to do but keep a close eyes on him. So I did. I sat by his bedside and cooled his hot forehead, I made him eat and drink when he didn't want to, I made him cough when it hurt and most of all I made him sleep.

Why are you doing this? He asked me late one evening as I held him upright as he coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath. I didn't ask for this. He wheezed.

Because I have a duty of care. And nothing can relieve me of that duty not even you. I swore oaths and vows to that long before you were born.

He looked at me strangely but seemed too exhausted to pursue any further.

How old are you? He asked me the following evening as I fed him spoonfuls of soup.

22\. I said quickly. I typically always defaulted to the age I was when I died.

So am I. You're a priest...to decide so early that you would give up on women seems foolish.

I smiled in response. Well, I didn't really view it as giving up anything. I said. Not to mention Anglican priests are allowed to marry. We have been for some time now.

I don't believe in God. he said and raised his chin defiantly.

It's not compulsory.

You can't see the things I've seen and believe in God.

I knew he was expecting a fight but I just nodded and urged him to continue eating.

I don't doubt it. I said gazing at him seriously.

Why are you alone if you don't have to be?

Ahhh, Doctor, _that_ question. It wasn't the first time I'd been asked _that_ question throughout the years and it wouldn't be the last. I admit, a good deal of my seclusion was self enforced. I did enjoy the quiet but there were time I got lonely. Terribly lonely. The time spent with my son and my family was as deeply invested as I had tried to allow myself to get in this world. This strange world with no sun and no stars, no Amy, no you. There was a part of me that couldn't bear to move through time while never being a part of it. Amy was none too pleased with what she saw as enforced youth being a prerequisite to be your friend. She was also very bitter with how it was put upon Melody. How it frightened her. But I understand. I have made friends over the years and I don't have to describe for you, I'm sure, the terror at seeing them injured, seeing them so horribly mortal. I'd suddenly get the urge to leave them. It was selfish, I know, but sometimes one more hurt, one more loss felt like more than I could handle.

Because the loss of people...hurts. I said finally. Because sometimes I fear I have loved too hard and too strong and too brightly to ever deal with the inevitable separation it brings again. A long time ago I lost my mother and after that my son and a woman, my wife. The ache of being without my Amelia is at times more than I can stand.

It was strange to have Amy's name come from my mouth. I rarely spoke it and hardly thought it. You don't need to think of someones name when they are so omnipresent in your thoughts and your heart. They are simply she, her, you, the other half of us. That was Amy. Who am I kidding it still is.

I said all this having no idea why I was being so frank with him but he actually seemed to like it. He nodded in agreement.

You speak Russian like my Grandfather used to and even for him it was considered a quirk...an oddity. I haven't heard my own language in too long. When we left, we scattered. Some went to Austria, some deeper into Poland, I heard of some who went to Shanghai and others to America. I just knew I wanted to get out. It was crowded and small and cramped and it stank just the same in summer and winter. There was no food, no jobs, no way out, no hope. We, my mother and brother and I lived in a cellar, the walls and floor were constantly wet and my mother developed a cough. I was a weaver working in a shop on a terrible old loom. I'd be gone 16, 18 hours a day only to make less than 3 rubles a week. I saw these old men sitting beside me, gray and bearded and almost blending in with everything around them, the material and the dust and the dank and I thought this is where I shall die. I shall break down here, I shall keel over, I will develop my mother's cough. I shall go mad. But I didn't I kept on and on and on because my father had left us when I was a child and they would starve without me. I loved my mother and I loved my little brother Grigori and I would not be the death of them. Except that I was. I was at work when they came, screaming through the village, a mob with a singular purpose. To hurt us as much as they could. And do you know who was at the front of the group? Priests, frothing at the mouth screaming Kill the Jews! and kill us they did. My mother, my brother, everyone I knew except those who'd had the good fortune to not be at home. Though it didn't feel like good fortune. I buried them. I buried their broken bodies along with any remnants of the notion of a just world of a good God and I left. He paused. Why am I telling you all this? I never tell anyone this. When I was traveling with a small band everyone felt compelled to share their story except me. I would not pay their price of a sad tale just to be among their ranks. It felt...disrespectful.

I am so sorry, Konstantin. So terribly sorry for what you have lost.

Do you think I am a coward for running? He seemed concerned about what my answer might be.

I think you're an incredibly brave man and the farthest thing from a coward I could imagine. You should rest now. You've exhausted yourself.

Perhaps because in his illness his defenses were lowered he began to talk a bit more. It usually started with some blunt statement about me.

You do not behave like a priest. He grumbled as I helped him into a bath.

Don't I?

No. You don't push and proselytize. You're not always whining about how there's a reason and a purpose for everything.

Well thank you, I think.

Shouldn't you be in a monastery or something?

Not that kind of priest, same messiah, different branch. If the water isn't warm enough let me know. There's plenty more from the range. I'll leave you in peace but call me when you're ready to get out.

He grew steadily stronger as the days passed and he was also finally able to put a bit of weight on. The pallor left him as did the almost perpetual sheen of sweat. His appetite was back and I was happy to feed him. I knew that he might be growing antsy to wander and I thought maybe I could head him off.

May I make a suggestion. London, on its best day is an overcrowded canker. It's filthy, it's poverty riddled, it's segregated and it's mean. You might very well find what you're looking for there, I don't know. You might die of cholera. Again, I don't know. What I do know is that it might be wise to consider staying here.

Here? Is Awlchester so cosmopolitan? He asked with a laugh. The people at the pub didn't seem quite so welcoming. They seem to respect you, yes. You have people here who like you but you have no friends. Neither would I if I stayed.

I was startled by both his frankness and the accuracy of his words. While I did like the people of the town and I believed they liked me...we weren't friends.

I know these people. I continued. And I know for the most part they're good. I also know that here you could have your own house and your own land. You wouldn't be crammed into a tenement or a ghetto.

He blinked at me in disbelief.

What are you talking about, Arthur?

It was the first time he'd used my name and I couldn't help but smile.

I'm talking about you and I clearing what I thought to be a forest and renovating that old house. This property is mine and it's already a bit more than I can handle. But if I were to divide it by two-

_Krepostnoi krestyanin?_

No, no you wouldn't be working for me. I would give you half of the property.

Why would you do such a thing?

Because what you said, you were right. I don't have any friends. But at the moment neither do you.

Have I offended you? It was rude of me to say that. He said and I could tell he was a bit embarrassed again. I'm sorry. My way can be a bit...brusque at times.

I'm not offended.

I think...perhaps in time, we might be friends. He said after a long pause.

I think you're right.

How long for such a project as this? Rebuilding a house?

With the two of us? We could have it fixed up before you know it.

He nodded solemnly.

I will stay.

And that's the story of how Awlchester got its first Russian towns-person, Konstantin became a landowner and a homeowner and how I made my first friend in a very, very long time. Did I pressure him to stay by tempting him with an offer a bit too hard to refuse? Did I exaggerate the horrors of London? Maybe a bit, but not by much. Did the idea of being lonely again so cloud my judgment that I invited a complete stranger to stay? Was it short-sided, foolish, selfish and rash? Did it happen at the ridiculous speed with which I just wrote it? Oh yes, and I didn't regret it for a moment.

The year was 1802. The monarch was King George III. Yes, the mad one. We were but a year away from the Napoleonic Wars. But my battling days were over for time being. I was a farmer and priest and happy to be both.

The world had no quarrel with me nor I with her.

I hoped to keep it that way.

* * *

I'll spare you the somewhat boring details. Well, perhaps boring to anyone else except me. I treasure those memories and the minutiae of those days. We took care of all the legal necessities that came along with the division of property and then it was done.

I have never owned anything except the clothes on my back in my life. He said softly as we left and I clapped him on the back with enthusiasm.

Things change. You are now lord of the manor. But we'll need to fix up your manor first.

And so he and I went to work clearing the property much the same way I had done when I'd initially arrived.

I suppose this may not be the best time to tell you, I'm a very poor farmer. He said as he gave me a wry smile.

No worries. I've had years of practice.

And I had. Working the earth was second nature to me and I find that even now I miss it. Were we able to leave Manhattan I could see trying to talk Amy into buying a small farm. Can you imagine? Amy as a farmers wife. She'd hate it but I'd still give it a shot. Anyway, I taught Konstantin all I had learned and soon his fields were sprouting with late autumn life. As we got his house fixed up day by day he became more talkative, more open and I found myself laughing heartily at his jokes and his charm. In the evenings he stayed with me, sleeping in the guest room, trying his hand at cooking when he got bored with me poring over bible verses as I composed my next sermon. I still frequented town. Sometimes he'd come with me, other times he'd decide to stay at home and work. We set time aside for English lessons which he took to eagerly and yet, when it was just we two, he and I spoke only Russian to one another.

Some of the townsfolk warmed to him, each for their own reasons. The more worldly had heard whispers of what had happened in Russia, some of the older folks thought him to be a nice young man and more than a few of the young women thought he was handsome. Those that didn't warm...didn't. But I had no interest in them and it didn't seem to bother my new friend. He was slow to trust but unfailingly polite and before long he was fielding invitations to Sunday dinners in town.

The remains of what was to be his home were a mess and in far more disrepair than my own had been. But we both approached it as a challenge, pulling out rotted wood, reinforcing planks and walls, bricks and mortar. We typically began at sunrise and ended at sundown unless there was a full moon to give us a bit longer.

Do you never tire, Arthur? He'd ask.

I could say the same for you. I would deflect with a laugh. But come, lets go in. We'll leave the rest 'til tomorrow.

There were so many reasons I liked having him with me. The friendship, having someone to talk to and work with. But he also made me more human. As an auton I could see in all levels of light, I could hear miles away, I could work indefinitely especially when I let my mind wander. I had made mistakes over the years. I'd had conversations with curious neighbors who would swear my candlelight had never been snuffed for the evening or they had seen or heard me working on something all through the night, no rest, no break in rhythm...like a machine. I would laugh it off of course but I had to be careful. All down through the long, long years I had to be so careful and I often wasn't. But Konstantin was my barometer, my touchstone. When he ate, I ate. When he rested, I rested. When he slept, I slept.

Winter came fast that year but it was mild and it only slowed us down a bit. His home was still not yet habitable so he stayed with me. We had planted our winter cover crops in anticipation of a great yield next year. A fantastic mixture of winter rye, rye grass, crimson clover, field peas and hairy vetch. The clover, ryegrass and peas would die, their mulch replenishing our fields, but the hairy vetch and rye would return for us in the spring.

There was of course always work to do, animals that needed tending, repairs to be made but comparatively speaking, winter was the lazy time for us. We'd gathered apples from my tree in late October. We'd crushed them in our cider mill and managed to enjoy a glass nearly every evening that season. We'd put away lots of preserves and there was always plenty of food in general. Konstantin who had been rail thin when we'd met had put on a healthy amount of weight and muscle and looked better than I've ever seen him. I was still available to the people of Awlchester, still there every Sunday, still counseling and helping when I could. But my friend became my entire focus to the exclusion of nearly everyone else. I've only ever felt that way about a precious few people, before or since.

But I didn't want to be greedy. He was a young man and because I saw the girls making eyes at him I encouraged him to perhaps give one of them a go.

There's Mary. She's a very nice young lady. She asked me about you Tuesday last when I was at the feed store.

He'd only laughed in reply.

She is nice and attractive true but I believe her father would have my head.

Nonsense. Is this about your accent or your English? The progress you've made is incredible. Truth be told you speak better than some of the native born.

No...it isn't that. I am content here in this life. I should like to grow in it and stretch out a bit before I think of bringing someone else along. Are you trying to get rid of me? He asked with a smile.

Not for the wide world.

We finished his house in Spring and by May he was settled in. But our routine didn't change. We had breakfast together every morning. We worked together and we would end our evenings together one of us saddling up and riding to the other end of the property, kicking off our boots, settling before the fire or just relaxing outside and staring up at the empty sky.

It seems like there should be something up there. He said one evening. I find it rather unsettling the idea that we are alone. Are there no other places in the sky where two men not so different than us are looking up wondering where everyone else is?

I rather like that idea. What if there wasn't just one other planet but hundreds, thousands, millions, stretching out and out above us, decorating the sky.

He grinned at me.

There's something of the mad poet in you isn't there? The dreamer? And what would they be called, this conglomeration of lights?

There's an old Latin word called _stella_   and it means to strew or scatter. In English it would translate to star. I think they would be called stars.

Stars. I like that word of yours. Stars. And there should be people on these stars. People without borders or rules. Happy people like you and me.

I like that idea very much.

And your God, is He among these stars?

He is everywhere. He doesn't exist in one room and not the other.

He nodded and made a small Hmm noise as he always did when talk turned to religion but then he brightened.

Come, lets wave at them. Let's call to all those other people up there lost in the dark. Perhaps they'll peek out at us and come and play. Helllllooooooooo! Are you up there!?

I laughed at him as he'd jumped to his feet yelling eagerly at the blank night sky. He was young and he made me feel young and I too leapt to my feet and started shouting at the sky calling for people long, long gone. When I think of us, Konstantin and I, that memory always jumps to the forefront. I was happy. So happy. And so it went on for years.

Then one day, I remembered.

Tambora. I said softly under my breath.

What is it? He asked as concern furrowed his brow. We were in the midst of shoring up the pigsty's for the upcoming winter and I had frozen mid-work.

You're going to think I'm mad. I said with a head-shake.

Perhaps. But I should like to hear it anyway.

Something is going to happen. Not now, not for a long time but we need to prepare.

Can you see the future, Artyusha? He asked with amusement. Like one of those old women? A _gadalka_?

Not exactly...but do you trust me?

You know I do. He said seriously.

Then believe me when I say we need to get to work. The barn...we have to add on to both your barn and mine.

Are we getting more horses?

No, we need space for storage. We're going to start storing away a good deal of what we harvest.

Alright. You know I will help in anyway I can. But why?

Because something very, very bad is coming.

Konstantin and I went to work that very day. Drawing up plans for more space, more room. We'd needed to build an upper level to our barns, high above the ground where moisture and rodents couldn't reach. Slowly I told my friend just what we were doing and why.

So, there's going to be an explosion many miles from here and it will affect us?

Yes, exactly.

It will change out weather?

Yes.

I don't understand.

It's alright. It's not easy to wrap your head around.

I feel as though we're preparing an ark.

It won't be quite that bad.

Well, why don't we just tell them. That way they can plan as well.

If there's one thing I've learned it's that you can't tell people anything. Not really. They won't hear you, they're not ready. And by the time they could even think of listening it's too late.

But we will try? He asked me.

Of course we'll try.

And try we did, Doctor. The soil that I occasionally got shipped into the local post office was volcanic soil, as rich and fertile as I remember finding on the hillsides of Naples. I tried to introduce them to that but they declined. I tried to explain floodwater collection as I had explained it to Konstantin years before. How to redirect water into small plots and pits where you could plant trees and shrubs and how to actually plant crops between rows of planted trees and letting the nitrogen absorption make its way through the root system making the soil even more fertile. We tried for days, months, seasons, years we tried but Awlchester was set in its ways, cemented to them more like it and one young know-it-all priest and a Russian immigrant weren't going to change that.

There's not much to be said for the years that followed except there is everything to be said. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't laugh, didn't smile, didn't embrace him, tease him, work along side of him, end my night with him. The only times I felt lonely were times when we were apart which was admittedly rare.

I should have realized then but of course I didn't. I can be a bit thick.

The grain storage just became second nature after awhile and so we never really questioned it or thought about it. Some in the town noted we were bringing less to market and that we both appeared to be almost constantly building. We only explained that we were storing up.

At one point I had to move the Pandorica and of course Konstantin took notice.

I don't believe that's for carving. After all these years you've never touched it, at least with nothing sharp. I have seen your fingers brush it though...lovingly... It's precious to you. Is it some sort of relic? A sarcophagus?

I was surprised by how spot on he nearly was.

It's something that means a great deal to me. It's the only thing I own of any real importance.

He nodded.

Perhaps someday you'll tell me what's inside.

At that point I wasn't certain but I could almost picture myself doing just that.

* * *

On the 5th of April in the year 1815 on the island of Sumbawa in Indonesia and after hundreds of years of dormancy Mount Tambora erupted. The explosion was heard some 1930 km away. Over 92 thousand people would die. It was to be the largest eruption in recorded human history. But we went on completely unaware. For Konstantin and I it was lambing time and were spending a good amount of hours helping the ewes as they gave birth. After four brutal winters we'd just come out of a relatively mild one and were glad of it. Everything was starting to grow again and I was keenly aware that this was it. Our last year. We worked hard that spring and summer, maybe harder than usual. I think Konstantin could sense my anxiety though I tried to push it down and away.

One day in August he had apparently had enough and declared it our day off. I protested of course. There was so much to be done. There was always so much work to be done but he countered by saying that was precisely the point.

So we did the bare minimum and then took a day and shirked all responsibility. We packed some food for lunch, saddled up our horses and headed out. There was a lake too far away for children to walk to and too distant for most adults to bother with and on that humid afternoon it seemed most enticing. We stripped down and dove into the water. We splashed and swam and floated. We climbed out, had our lunch and then after a bit climbed right back in. We talked as we always did, we seemed to never run out of things to say to one another. We had an amazing time and I was so grateful to him for talking me in to this little excursion. We toyed with the idea of building a fire just with the excuse of extending our stay but eventually we had to start to make our way home We arrived back at our farm just as the Tardis-Sun was setting. And what a sunset it was. I have never seen the like before or since.

The technical explanation, Doctor, the boring one is that the explosion jettisoned sulfur dioxide gas into the atmosphere. That gas combined with hydrogen dioxide to form sulfuric acid which in turn was suspended in naturally forming aerosol clouds which slowly navigated the globe. These particles would remain suspended in the stratosphere for years. On this night it did what aerosol does, scattered light and altered the earths reflectivity.

Now...in laymen's terms that meant it created the most beautiful sunset I have ever, ever seen. Red, purple, orange, yellow, the most vibrant streaking and staining of the sky I had ever born witness too. Konstantin and I hurried and dismounted and stabled the horses, watering and brushing them but stopping every so often to poke our heads out and just gaze up at the sky. For the most part we were silent. There were no words to say. Nothing to add to this moment. There was this brief slice of time when I saw my friend looking at me, his lips parted as though he were on the verge of saying something but he quickly pressed them shut and looked away.

When it was over we bid each other good night with an embrace and I watched him cross through the field headed towards his own property until he was swallowed up by the dark.

The next day in town the sunset was all anyone could talk about and while I was glad they had enjoyed it's beauty their interpretations of it made my heart hurt.

I think it's a good omen. One of them said.

I think you're right at that! Another added. God painting the sky like that, well it seems to me it's like a promise that things will be alright. Like the rainbow He showed to Noah. Don't you agree, Vicar?

What could I say, Doctor? Certainly not the truth.

I think it can be difficult to interpret God's messages to us but I know He speaks. And I think He wants us to enjoy the loveliness of this world in all its shapes and forms. That includes striking sunsets.

My response satisfied them but only because I believe they wanted to be satisfied. I understood that and I begrudged no one their comfort. In truth, despite the fact (or perhaps because of it) that I knew what was coming I was feeling a bit festive myself. I stopped by the market and purchased some pheasant, potatoes, cottage cheese, sugar, jam and a few of whatever fresh fruits were available. I arrived back at the farm cleaned the pheasant and set it to cook on the range, made a quick dough, added my other ingredients and put that to bake before going back to work. When I was out of Konstantin's sight I worked faster than I ever allowed humans to see all so that we could finish early.

I checked periodically on my food and when it was ready I leaned out of the door and called to him.

The day is done, put down your tools and come to dinner!

I saw him grin even at a distance and he hurried to do as I asked.

What have you done? He asked with amusement as he entered. Everything smells amazing.

I thought perhaps we deserved a special meal for tonight's show.

Tonight's show? He asked in confusion.

Knowing that the pheasant could be a bit gamey if it was cooked too quickly I'd made a rather fast stew of what was available and I ladled it into two bowls for us.

You are too good to me, Arthur. He said with a smile and a shake of his head

I know. I teased him. I believe I have spoiled you for any woman who might come along.

He smiled oddly in return though I admit at that time I really didn't notice.

We both ate enthusiastically and the food came out magnificently if I do say so myself. We'd eaten inside and now I hastened him outdoors with both our chairs.

I'll join you in a moment. The sun is about to set and we don't want to miss the beginning.

He beamed as he got the idea.

Will it happen again tonight? Are you certain?

Absolutely. I nodded. Hurry, I'll be out in a moment.

I set the bows in the sink and grabbing two plates I set a dessert on each of them and eventually joined him outside.

Here you are. I said handing him the confection.

He looked at it with surprise.

Is this a _vatrushka_?

It is. I had to go by an old recipe I remembered from years ago. I hope you like it.

I haven't had one of these since I used to sit on my grandmothers knee.

He took a bite and in the fast fading light I saw him close his eyes.

Good? I asked.

Perfection. He said softly.

We ate quietly, lapsing into amazed silence as the sky again lit up somehow more vibrant than before. I wished I had a camera, I wish I could have painted a picture, I wish I had the words to describe it. Breathtaking, lovely, heavenly don't even begin to suffice.

It was over far too soon and we sat quietly in silvery moonlight.

I suppose I should head home. He said suddenly.

So soon? We could stay out and talk a bit. The moon hasn't even risen above our heads yet.

I know... He said and he sounded distracted. He rose to his feet and I noticed he was twisting his hat in his hands, nervously, the way he had when we'd first met. I stood as well, ready to embrace him and tell him I'd see him on the morrow. But he was looking at me suddenly, so seriously that I stopped.

Artyusha. He said softly.

What? I asked, matching his soft tone. What is it?

And then suddenly he was kissing me. He tasted of sugar and jam.

And in a moment I was kissing him back. It was such a powerful reaction, so without question or argument.

This kiss was for me. For who I was. The man I was. There is something so indescribable about being kissed by someone who knows you. I hadn't let someone know me in so, so long. And yes, I kissed him back because I wanted to. I needed to.

I let it happen and I let it go on. I convinced myself that this was different. I convinced myself that I had...I don't know...earned it. A part of me wanted to stop it, to gently push him away. And I did but only to say, Someone will see us. Before I finally grabbed his shirt collar and tugged him indoors.

Here is my confession, Doctor, and never fear, Amy and I discussed this years ago. She wasn't exactly enthused but she was patient and understanding. I remember she said, I hope you don't expect me to forgive you. This isn't a forgiveness sort of thing. Rory...I couldn't expect you to remain alone for 20 centuries. Anyone who _would_ expect that is a delusional tyrant. You needed companionship, you needed human interaction. I love you, you love me nothing can change that. I wont shame you for finding happiness. I'm just glad that you did.

I went back over my letters to you and the one about Vitus stands out. I proclaimed I had never taken another woman to bed and that's true. But I was splitting hairs. I'm not sure why I felt compelled to lie to you. You who doesn't judge me, you who always understood. But I did lie. I'm sure you recall that night so many years ago when I said, You'd be surprised how fluid sexuality starts to seem after 2000 years? This was the reason.

We made fast work of our clothes and tumbled into my bed and...well, let's just say after that there was no more talk of the girls in town from there on out. For either of us. His touch almost hurt. Mostly because it had been so long since anyone had touched me, since I'd allowed it. I was hesitant. I was shy. But it was all alright. I had helped to teach him English. He had dusted off my aging Russian. And this new language we learned together. I won't delve into details, Doctor. You know that's not really my way. But I will say it was intimate and erotic and meaningful and I didn't realize how empty I had felt for so many years until suddenly with him, I wasn't.

Lying there afterwards, buried under a thin sheet he kissed the ball of my shoulder.

Surely you knew. He said quietly.

I knew how I felt...or rather how I felt but couldn't acknowledge.

Have I lead you into sin? He asked and looked troubled. If my lack of faith has polluted you...lead you to this I'll never forgive myself. Though now is a fine time to bring it up.

You've done nothing wrong. I'm happy. I have no regrets.

But there's something in your eyes. He said as he studied me and again I found myself surprised by his intuition. The woman you mentioned. Amelia? He asked me.

Yes.

You're now worried you've betrayed her?

Yes. I said with a quick nod.

She's passed away, correct?

My eyes started to burn with tears I typically fought so hard to hold back. I could only nod again.

And do you believe that you will be reunited with her again, in a life that follows this one?

I do. I said. I knew his meaning of course but his words were still accurate whether we were discussing heaven or what was to come when the Pandorica finally opened.

Do you really believe that she would wish for you to exist in a self imposed misery until that time? That her fondest wish would be for you to be alone? To maintain a vigil of solitude?

I gave thought to his words, serious thought. What would Amy want from me, of me. It's not like we ever planned for this, for a monumental separation of this magnitude. Until she and I actually spoke about it some centuries later I wasn't sure what she would think, how she would feel. But his words did resonate. I was so lonely and this had all been so hard. This road had been so long and if I could snatch a few decades of happiness...

No. I said finally. I don't think that's what she'd want.

Do you love her any less, simply because you love me?

No, I don't. And I do love you.

A wise choice. He said with a grin. Now kiss me, Artyusha. Kiss me and be happy.

And I did. I kissed him and we had another go on that warm, lovely, August evening.

From then on our routine was essentially the same. We worked just as hard tending to the farm, the animals, we stored the grain, I tried to tend to the spiritual needs of the town. But every night, instead of separating we stayed together, either at my house or his. We'd climb into bed, sometimes we'd make love, other times not but what was most important is that we had a relationship. A real relationship, the second one of my life. Simply put...I was in love and I hadn't been this happy since my son was living. I didn't question it, after that. I stopped questioning it and simply allowed myself to live it.

* * *

Konstantin, I and every other farmer in Awlchester began to set fire to our fields in June. It was normal, once the wheat has been harvested to set fire to the stubble in preparation to plant soybeans. Everything went up in a magnificent blaze and we danced and whooped around it like children. It would be the last bit of warmth we would get for a good long while. The thing about the winter of 1815 is that it never quite ended. The following year came to be known as The Year Without Summer or The Poverty Year. But that isn't what we called it when we were in it. At that time, it was simply hell.

I'd read about it as a child with that same ravenous fascination others reserve for Titanic or 9/11. Watching human drama play out on the pages of a textbook removes you from the incident. It also removes you from any guilt. Because after all, what are numbers, what is a thousand dead, two thousand, ten thousand, it's just facts and figured. It's horrible, yes, but you can't comprehend it or wrap your mind around it. You don't understand that it's thousands of dreams crushed and ended, thousands of voices silenced once and for all, thousands of heartbeats stopped just like that. My understanding of Tambora was not simply murky and vague considering how long ago I had read about it, it was also purely academic. But in the months that followed it would become increasingly more real.

The Christmas season was snowy and though the horses slow trudge that took us to church seemed to take forever the ride home was much more pleasant. I admit, Doctor, I had become a bit selfish. Using the church as a front had always been just that, a front, a convenient way to stay out of the way but still have a normal and integral part of a town. It also as always kept people from asking too many question. But this time, this block of years the ruse was wearing thin with me. I started to resent the obligation, the expectations of my time and it was only back home, having a decidedly secular Christmas with Konstantin that I felt I was myself. I'd surprised him years ago by cutting down a small tree for the living room.

What on earth is that for? He'd asked both delighted and a bit confused.

Just wait, you'll see.

We decorated then as we did now, with candles and ribbons, sweets and fruits and placed our modest presents for one another beneath it. We had minced pies and beef, roasted potatoes and cider. It was quiet and lovely and ours.

You know we can celebrate Hanukkah if you like?

Arthur, you've been asking me that for over a decade now. He said with a smile. My answer is and will always be no. While I have little use for your Christ, I like your Christmas. I don't want anything to change. And I do so enjoy the tree.

Did you know, I began as I settled down onto the floor behind him, pulling his body between my legs, That in the 7th century they hung Christmas trees upside down?

He laughed.

You're making that up.

I most certainly am not. A very long time ago St. Boniface used it to impart the message of the Trinity when he traveled to Germany. See, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I said pointing to each triangular tip.

I haven't seen any other houses with trees in all these years. Why is that?

That's because they wont- At this point I stopped myself. Christmas trees wouldn't actually be come popular until Queen Victoria started putting one up in 1840. That's because... I continued, they just haven't caught on yet. We're ahead the times you and I.

In more ways than one. He said with a yawn. He fell asleep against me like that not long after and I stayed awake just listening to the sound of the snow falling and the occasional flickering of the candles. It was a happy time.

January and February were bitter, but when weren't they? We all trudged along, everyone save me unaware. I had tried, I swear to you, Doctor I tried to convince them of what was coming. The past few winters had been so harsh I thought I at least had that leverage but no one was really listening. I can't blame them. It's easy to throw out analogies of the ant and the grasshopper but truly who could expect what was on its way?

**March-**

They say it comes in like a lion and it did. Blustery, rough and raw, rattling the windows, bursting through heretofore unknown holes in the wood and masonry. A great many days of school were cancelled. I tried to hold church services but it became harder for people make it. I wasn't affected by the elements, I mean, I could feel cold but it was more like I only registered it on a technical level. One doesn't ask a thermometer if it needs a jumper and that's essentially what I was, a thermometer. The end of that old saying is that it goes out like a lamb. But it didn't, March set it's stubborn foot down and it let us all know it intended to stay awhile.

**April-**

This was the month when we would typically start planting but there was still frost in the air and a thick layer of snow on the ground. I was in the barn, the absurdly enormous barn when Konstantin came running in to find me. He was calling my name and I'd never heard such fear in his voice.

Arthur! You must come. The sun, something is wrong with the sun!

I rushed out and he followed and we both stared up at the sky. A large, dark blotch was visible

This does not bode well. I am not a superstitious man but... he trailed off.

It's alright, Kostya, I promise. It's just a sun spot, it hasn't anything to do with us here or this weather. It can't harm us, I promise. It's just...ill-timed.

This statement of faith on my part would have probably gone better had I not almost immediately passed out a moment later. You told me to avoid radio waves and while I realize you were in a rush it would have been helpful to mention that electromagnetic waves weren't my friend either. Your TARDIS-sun happened to be putting out a lot of them at that particular moment and down I went. It had happened before but usually, at most, it was only a dizzy spell.

I came to several hours later according to Kostya. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, his eyes red rimmed, his face creased with worry.

It's alright. I'm alright.

You couldn't be roused. I carried you in here and I watched over you. I didn't know what else to do. He said and I reached up a hand to put in on his cheek, trying to comfort him.

I promise, I'm ok. Just went a bit unsteady there. Perhaps I've been working too hard. Now, what was I saying...oh, yes, the dark marks on the sun, they're natural, they're fine. Think of them as just...mini eruptions on the surface. They'll go away after a few days. Please don't worry.

I can do without the sun. He whispered harshly. I cannot do without you.

Oh, love, come here. I said sitting up to embrace him.

You should lie still! He exclaimed but I just held him to me letting my fingers sink into his dark hair.

Hush now... I said and I heard his breath hitch in his chest. Konstantin wasn't very emotional. He was fiery, with an occasional quick temper but he wasn't one to cry. I felt awful for having scared him so badly.

We were interrupted after a few moments of quiet by a banging at the door. Shouts of, Vicar! and Father, please come out! Please speak to us! reached our ears.

I gave a wry laugh.

Have they come with pitchforks and torches to finally take the monster away? I muttered.

What? Kostya asked.

Sorry, she hasn't written that yet. It'll make sense soon enough. Actually I think she's writing it now. Isn't that funny?

When I think back to how I used to talk, Doctor I'm always a bit surprised at how much I sounded like you. But then again now I understand why you sound the way you do. All that information, all muddled and out of order. Always wanting to bubble up and out.

It's the people from town. Konstantin said and I could hear the rage in his voice. He'd gone quickly from tears to anger. I'll send them away.

Konstantin wait. I said. I got up a bit too quickly and had to steady myself against the bed frame. He had already rushed out of the room and I heard him open the door.

He's taken ill. He had a fainting spell. Go away, he can't be bothered with you now.

I expected his words to be met with anger but instead I hear a wail go up from the crowd.

Father has taken ill! What will we do? So many omens!

I took a deep breath and willed myself towards the door to our home.

You should be in bed. Konstantin whispered quickly but I smiled at him and gripped his shoulder.

Alright, what's all the commotion? Andrew, tell me what's happened? I said to the man nearest to me who did indeed have a brightly burning torch.

Did you not see it, Vicar? The sun was blotted out in parts. Isn't that one of the signs of the end? The sun turning blood red?

That's the moon. Came a small voice from down below and I looked towards my knees to see little Nellie Blythe who was no more than eight years old. I bent down and scooped her.

Nellie is correct, the moon is supposed to turn to blood red and the sun is meant to turn black as sackcloth.

I heard a gasp go up from the assembled and realized I wasn't helping.

But, I continued, neither of those things are happening. I have a mate from America, a scientist who knows about these things and just a week ago he sent me a letter in the post saying to expect something like this. He said it's perfectly normal and it's nothing to be upset about. This is not the end of days. And how do we know this? I asked, raising my voice so that even those in the back could hear. We know this because the good book tells us so. Mark Chapter 13 Verse 32, But of that day and _that_ hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father. Only God knows when the end is coming and it does us no good to speculate. To do so is an affront to His eyes. Trust in his word. And I believe I can, with a good degree of certainty assure you, this is not the end. Go home my friends. I said giving Nellie a kiss on the cheek and passing her off to her mum. I'm sorry you were driven out here on such a cold evening.

Those that would be convinced were and those who were still doubting and fearful remained so but in the end they dispersed, saddled up and headed home. They must have been so frightened. Part of the reason that Kostya and I were so free with one another was the distance of our farms from town. People rarely ventured our way. Once everyone was out of sight, only their footprints in the snow and the small tiny lights of their retreating torches in the distance remained I shut the door.

Do you believe the things you say? Konstantin asked he asked suddenly.

Sometimes. I answered honestly. There's a bit of the charlatan in this job, my friend. Some of it's pantomime. But that's faith, I suppose. Believing not in conjunction with your reason but in opposition to it.

That must be a difficult way to exist.

It is. It very much is.

**May -**

In May we had a blizzard that seemed to come out of an initially clear sky. I had been visiting one of my sick parishioners. There was a rumor it was cholera which thankfully turned out to be untrue. I had seen cholera, far too much of it for my liking and an epidemic would decimate the town and spread quickly. I didn't pass myself off as a doctor, simply that I had been trained a bit before committing to the church. And still I found myself involved in most of the health matters of the town.

This was the month that Kostya became a bit of a hero. He was driving his wagon home through the storm. As he told me later he could barely see or hear anything for the wind and the snow but he just happened to make out two small figures standing stock still next to an ever rising drift. It was Nellie and Gwendolyn. They gotten turned about and then lost on the way home from school. He brought the horses to a stop and leapt from his seat. The two little ones were crying and he raised them up, one in each arm and put them on the wagon seat, he then grabbed an old horse blanket and wrapped it around them.

You'll be alright. I promise I will get you home. He assured them.

And he did. He turned the horse about and headed back the way he came greeting their frightened parents with their to missing little girls. I think that was what helped finally change things between he and the town. Nellie and Gwendolyn's parents welcomed him in to warm up and they finally let themselves see the charm that I saw. They fed him and told him he was a good man. They made sure to spread around the news of what he'd done and on that icy day, relations finally started to thaw.

**June -**

I had to be sure, Doctor, that was why I waited. Time can be rewritten as we always say and I thought maybe there was a possibility things wouldn't get so bad as I recalled reading. I mean how could I know for certain?

I knew when it was still hailing the size of golf balls in June. I knew when bread prices had skyrocketed. I knew when word of protests and uprisings, in some cases bloody ones were filtering in through gossip, the occasional traveler or beggar and letters from far and wide. I knew it when tempers started to grow shorter and arguments grew more frequent. I wasn't going to test this or draw it out. It was time.

Lying in bed with Kostya that night in his house I brought it up.

We can't put it off any longer.

I agree. Tomorrow we should tell everyone to bring their wagons and carts. It's time to distribute the grains.

It should all be fine. We kept it tightly sealed and away from the wet. I made sure to put a bit of dry ice in each container. We're ready. But is calling people out here the right way to handle it? I don't want to seem...

Pompous?

Exactly.

We could deliver it. My wagon and your wagon, we could fill them up at least enough to leave a barrel on every doorstep.

It would take a good portion of the evening and we'd have to be quiet..but I really like your idea.

You'd prefer to enter into myth than take any sort of credit for this.

Myth has its advantages.

How did you know this would be, Artyusha? He asked growing serious.

Just a hunch.

Do we lie to one another now?

I have secrets, Kostya.

I've yet to meet a man who doesn't.

Secrets that I fear to tell you.

What could you be afraid to tell _me_?

Things that would be difficult to explain. I said with a heavy sigh. Have you ever heard the story of the Wandering Jew?

I don't believe so.

It's a very old myth. It goes back to the 13th Century but it's rooted a lot farther in the past then that. So the story goes there was a man, some say he was a cobbler, others say he was some different kind of tradesman and in some of the stories he was Pontius Pilates doorman. In any case in all the stories he taunted or struck Jesus as he was on his way to Golgotha. And for that he was condemned to walk the earth in perpetual exile until the Second Coming.

Why are you telling me this? He asked softly.

I like to tell you stories. I suppose I fancy myself a bit of a story teller.

I don't like that story. He said with a frown. It's everything I hate about religion encapsulated in one tale. Source-less myth, endless punishment and suffering, all for nothing, all purposeless. Insulting morality fables. What crime could warrant wandering the earth for thousands of years? Who would ask someone to bear that? Who _could_ bear that?

Who indeed? I said quietly.

It's nonsense. You would do well to put such an awful story out of your head. I wish you hadn't put it in mine.

I'm sorry.

It's alright. Let's just rest.

I agreed and we put out the light and silence settled over us.

The next night we set to work by the light of what should have been the harvest moon. We loaded up our wagons and secured our load and set out. By the time the sun rouse every house had wheat for themselves and feed for their cattle. The following night we transported bales of hay for horses and chicken feed. Not everyone was a farmer, not everyone had animals but they all had families to care for and I would not see them starve.

Due to our nighttime activities Kostya and I slept for a good portion of the following days. When our own farms started to grow neglected I would allow him to rest while I set to work. When I came back inside one afternoon to get cleaned up he was waiting for me with a frown on his face.

Is something wrong? I asked.

I was watching you.

Oh...?

Yes. I watched you for a long time. You were working at an incredible pace. You never stopped to catch your breath, you never grimaced at the weight of something. You never struggled. You did it all with ease.

I stayed at the sink scrubbing my hands, keeping my back to him.

And?

I don't understand. I am exhausted. I could sleep for another two days straight. But if you got so much as an hours sleep last night I'll eat my hat.

I slowly turned to look at him, drying my hands on a nearby towel.

Alright, so what are you asking me?

I don't know yet. I'm not sure. I just know something strange is happening.

Konstantin do you trust me?

With my life.

Then trust me when I say there are certain things you're better off not knowing.

He nodded.

So evidently _you_ do not trust me. I'll be sleeping at my own house tonight. Enjoy yourself here. Alone.

Yes, I wanted to stop him and no, I didn't. I didn't know what to say. I had been putting this off for ages and the hourglass was running out of time. You can only stay with humans for so long before they start to realize something is grotesquely amiss. I didn't want him to feel that way. I didn't want him to look at me like that.

**June. July. August.**

The world around us was falling apart, cholera was sweeping through the cities and the countryside, furious and starving people in Suffolk, Bridport, West Dorset and Norfolk were rioting. They'd arrive with shovels, axes, bludgeons, shouting Blood or Bread! and then destroying everything in sight. Awlchester was a sea of calm comparatively speaking. Konstantin and I kept up our nightly visits to the village as needed. They, of course had an idea that it was us but we made it clear we didn't want to discuss it.

The Lord provides. Is all I would say to the curious or the grateful. I didn't need or want their gratitude, only their health and safety and calm. While our crops moldered in a cold rain that never seemed to stop animal and person alike no longer had to worry about their next meal. A mere decade of work all because I happened to like volcano trivia had paid off.

We had given up on summer. There would be no summer this year. No warm temperatures, no planting or growing season. There was only rain and muck and chill and sickness. And for Europe and America there was disease and blight and starvation and anger. We in Awlchester existed in an uneasy bubble.

Konstantin and I mended fences but he still knew I was keeping something from him. He was trying to work everything out in his head. And then one night it appeared he did.

I awakened one evening, nearly on the cusp of September with candle light disturbingly close to my face and Konstantin eyeing me wildly.

What's wrong? I asked.

You're not breathing. He said quickly before drawing a ragged breath himself.

What are you talking about?

You're not breathing. Your chest rises and falls but no breath passes your lips or your nose. I placed this candle before you and the flame didn't so much as flicker. What are you?

I'm Arthur. I said as patiently as I could. This was, of course, the moment that I had feared

I kissed your neck in the barn the other day, purposefully.

Well I should hope so.

Shut up! I kissed your neck. You had been working almost non-stop and I kissed your pulse point. I expected it to be thrumming erratically, strong and fast. But it wasn't. It was as steady as the tide. What _are_ you?

Kostya, you need rest. This will all make more sense in the morning.

That is a bullshit answer and worse yet it is no real answer at all. Are you a golem?

You don't believe in such things.

I didn't...I don't know what I believe now. He was starting to slowly get out of bed. You lied to me.

I didn't lie. I protested even though I knew it wasn't the truth. He had every cause to be angry, revolted, fearful.

If I struck you would you feel it? Would it even matter!?

Do you want to hit me?

I do! I want to pummel you! I want to cause some sort of damage. But I don't think I could. I don't think I could even make a dent. Time hasn't. You. Don't. Age. Arthur. I noticed. Yes, it took me a long time and you probably had a great chuckle over that but I see it now. Not a wrinkle or frown line, you look unchanged from the day we met.

He was backing away from me rapidly and I saw him blindly grab for his trousers.

You stay away from me, Arthur.

Konstantin, please, just let me explain. Please, allow me that.

I remember at this point I was starting to panic, Doctor. I realized he was leaving, really truly leaving and he wasn't even seeing me anymore. It's such a terrible thing to not be seen. You're not one for a rehash of domestic squabbles are you, my friend? And I'm not one to retell a very, very dark night in my life. I shall shorten it to spare your attention span and my heart. He left. He went rushing out into the snow, barefoot and I followed, even less clothed and no more shoe-ed than he. He was light and quick and I didn't want to scare him further so i allowed him a lead. He reached his own home shut, locked and barred the door with a chair that I heard scraping on its approach. I called to him, over the wind and swirling snow. I begged him, loudly to let me in, to please just let me try and provide a reason for all this. I told him I wouldn't hut him, that I could never ever hurt him. That I loved him beyond reason.

And ultimately, none of it mattered. I was torn with standing there, stalwart, unmovable. I considered sleeping outside his door but I feared 1) that would seem incredibly stalker-y and 2) it would really drive home the whole not human and completely unaffected by the elements thing if he were to wake up and find me shirtless and shoe-less and absolutely fine outside his door in the morning. So I left. went home, I wrote him a very long letter of apology and begged him to come to me the next day so we could talk this out. I went back to his house, slipped it under his door and waited, sitting stock still on the edge of my bed.

I heard his wagon swiftly pull out the next morning. I hoped he'd be back. I hoped I'd hear a tentative knock on my door not long past noon and there he'd be standing, twisting his hat in hands nervously but perhaps willing to give me a chance. A chance I didn't deserve.

But he wasn't. And as the TARDIS-sun set that day and the next and the next and the next my hope that he might return grew ever dimmer. I had run him off. Permanently.

I sank into the sadness and the weather suited my mood just fine. I continued to make the deliveries to the village. I kept up appearances at church. And when they asked where he'd gone I lied and said he'd had some business to attend to and he'd be back soon. I lied in September and October and November.

After three months of lies, I had reached the end of the rope of my sanity. But I had also started to germinate the seeds of a plan.

I left Awlchester. I packed a change or two of clothes, saddled Vesuvius and with no notice I set out. I rode to London and from there I caught a train and went to Oxford and straight to Bodelian, which even then was one of the oldest libraries in Europe. When had a library not served me? It was risky but it was also the only chance I had. I needed to be there because I needed to research something. I needed to research myself.

I never paid that much mind to where I traveled or how it might have effected the people I met and to what extent. Needless to say, I thought I might find a bit here and there, scatted in a book or two about myself. But I was horrified. I was _everywhere_. I had been woven into the mythology of more cultures and people than I could count. Even thinking about it made me feel ill. And here it all was, all laid out for me. The man with the box. The Centurion. The Sainted Physician. The King. The Mayor. The Soldier. The Doctor. Oh yes, you'd be surprised how often I got confused with you. Sometimes I think we must have been months, days, hours from running into one another. Of course, we probably wouldn't have recognized each other so it hardly matters.

As upset as I was to see what an unintentionally large splash I had made in history it did serve my purpose. I went to work. There were no copy machines of course so when I would find what I needed I slipped a piece of paper into the pages and set the book away. I did this for hours and days on end, bookmarking stories and parables, accounts and pictures. The pictures were the most helpful and some of them did bear a striking resemblance to me. They were usually more generous with the proportions of my nose than I would like, but what can you do? Finally I must have had over 50 books, reserved and set aside in a room just for me. I paid handsomely even though I was told it wasn't needed. I asked that they keep them there, untouched, until I returned.

I made my way back to London. I hated London. It was as awful as I imagined it and as awful as I remembered. Stinking, filthy, vile. I knew where he'd be. This was the only place he would come, the place he was initially headed. The place I had no doubt would have killed him ages ago. First I headed to a bank to take care of certain business. Then II made my way to I the East End of the city where the grip of the poverty year still held tight. There was squalor and muck everywhere, the same circumstances the poor have always had to survive in.

I don't often mention my hearing, Doctor, because by that time it was just second nature to me. Those first few years it was awful. I could hear for miles away. Miles. I had to learn to tune it out, force it down and away just to preserve my sanity. But now, I opened to it and I heard his voice, low and sad, speaking in a listless sort of tone. I followed the voice, through the streets, into the tenement and up the stairs until I came to his little corner of the hovel.

Kostya. I said.

He was sitting at an empty table and so much of that glorious weight and health I remembered had already been stripped away. He looked small and nondescript in this overcrowded room. I counted at least 12 other people in our presence and that didn't include those I had passed downstairs. The noise didn't stop, the coughing, the arguing, the muttering, the crying, the swearing. I had been in the rural peace and quiet too long, separated from this reality for too long to easily slip into it. This set my teeth on edge, it made me uncomfortable, jumpy, agitated. And I wondered had it been the same for him? For my dear Konstantin. He looked up in surprise and for a brief moment I saw relief spread across his features but he soon replaced it with blankness. He was still angry and rightfully so.

So you found me. Now, what are you going to do to me. He asked with both fear and weariness.

There's something I must show you. Will you come?

The situation was reversed now. I used to speak to him in Russian partly because no one understood our words. Now I was surrounded by those who spoke Russian so I switched to English.

If we are to part, it should be done properly and fairly. You left, understandably so, before I could explain. Will you allow me to explain now?

Do I have a choice?

You have always had a choice. Always. I mean you no harm. And all I ask if for a few hours of your time. Nothing more.

He looked at me suspiciously but I could tell his curiosity and whatever love he might still have left for me got the better of him. Konstantin sighed with resignation. Not a ringing endorsement of faith in me. More of an idea that if I did intend to hurt him, why not face it now?

Where are we going? He asked.

To the library.

We navigated the streets quickly and we didn't say very much. I wanted to touch him and hold him but I kept my arms at my sides. We boarded the train and to my surprise he didn't balk. He slept for most of the ride and I alternated between gazing out the window and back to his features. It seemed the lines had deepened on his face since we'd last met. Line of stress and worry. He seemed hungry and exhausted and I was glad he was getting rest.

We arrived in Oxford some hours later and before I took him to the library we visited the hotel room I'd rented.

I thought you might like to take a bath and have a fresh change of clothes. Take your time. I...I won't intrude. I'll wait for you in the lobby. But...before I leave, before we go any further I want to make something clear. I am not kidnapping you. My intention is not to hurt you or force you to be with me. You are free to leave at any time. I have opened an account in your name at C. Hoare and Co. in London which has 50,000 pounds. You'll find all the information in that bag. Should you chose to stay here for a bit in Oxford this room is yours. The clothes in the cupboard are yours, the watch, the hats, the shoes, the ties. I want you to be alright. I want you to be happy. And I want you to never have to return to that place I just found you, ever, ever again. You left your farm but I have been tending to it for you...should you ever wish to come back home. If you'd rather not I have the paper work. You can sign it back over to me and I'll give you double what its worth. I just...none of this comes with any strings attached. There are no caveats or hidden requests or demands. If after we visit the library you would rather never see me again, I understand. I will wish you nothing but the best of luck and I will never darken your doorstep again. I love you, Konstantin. That doesn't change whether we're together or apart. Now...as I said, I'll wait for you in the lobby.

I left him open mouthed. At that moment I didn't want to hear what he might say. I couldn't bear it.

He joined me a little over a half hour later looking like an entirely new man. Smartly dressed, clean as a whistle, his dark, curly hair still a bit damp.

Shall we go? I asked him and he nodded.

It was a short walk from the hotel to the library and as we entered I nodded to the gentleman at the front desk before heading to the reserved room. I motioned for Konstantin to walk in before me and then closed the door behind us.

What is all this? he asked staring at the neatly piled stacks of books. I had arranged them all in chronological order.

This is history. My history. You wanted to know what I am, what I was, well these books tell it better than I could.

We started where I always start, with accounts of Rome, tales of Ruaidhri, the great warrior of the Empire and his sons and grandsons and so on...all those who followed after him who championed Pax Romana. Interspersed among the pages were a few rudimentary drawings of me. From there we moved on to tales of Greece which included a picture of a bust of my head. The likeness wasn't perfect but I did notice as he frowned slightly. From there to first hand accounts, myths, fables and folklore of the ancient world, Egypt, Greece, Norway, Finland, Persia, China, Iran, Russia, Spain, Turkey, Armenia, Ireland, France and on and on and on, each drawing becoming more distinct, each story finally starting to again and again mention a strange man with an even stranger box that he held dear. A man who helped and healed when he could, but never stayed, a man sometimes without even a name.

It took hours but we two went through every book, every tale. When it was done he sat there across the table looking at me, his eyes dry and bloodshot but keen.

What I am asking you to believe is fantastic. It is unbelievable, I realize, in the truest sense of the word. But you deserve the truth. What is not contained in those books is the start of it all. I was born in the year 1989. I had a life and family and friends and a job and a fiance that I loved very much. And by a turn of events that even I don't fully understand I wound up nearly 2000 years in the past. I was given a choice, return to the time I know and leave Amy... unguarded in that box you saw so many times. Or stay with her and watch over here as time passed by until we could be reunited again in the future. Kostya, I was human, once, a long time ago. But I am not anymore. You can call me a revenant or a golem or a creature or a thing. All of that is true. I omitted my past to you because... I trailed off as I gestured to the wall of books that lay before us. Because how could I tell you? How could I explain? Before we met I was terribly lonely and so bone tired...and more than that...so depressed that there were days when I didn't want to live anymore. You changed all of that. I'm sorry for lying to you. But I'm not sorry for the time we spent together. Alright. That's all I had to say. I just thought I owed you an explanation.

This is really you? He asked and I realized it was the first time he had spoken his own words and not what he was reading from a book in hours.

It is.

You are from the future...and the past.

I am.

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes with heel of his hands.

This is too much to believe...and yet...I do believe it. That can only lead me to the conclusion that I treated you badly. Very badly.

You did no such thing. I kept a tremendous secret from you. A secret I keep from everyone but no one that I'd gotten as close to as you and I did. I then expected you to just contend with the reality. That wasn't fair.

You are not a farmer? I thought you were just a priest and a farmer. I thought you were normal.

Well, after all this time I'm a bit of everything. A farmer, a soldier, a field medic, a doctor, an herbalist, a business man...the list does go on. But a long time ago, I was just a nurse. A long time ago I _was_   normal.

You _are_ like the wandering Jew.

No, I wasn't cursed. I volunteered, it was the least I could do for Amy. The least she deserves.

That is the woman you feared you were betraying with me. Not dead, just resting. Do you miss her?

More than I can stand sometimes.

He glanced down at his hands not knowing what to say.

And I missed you. I continued. Terribly. That's why I came after you. I tried for so long to measure out love. A dram here, a pinch there, always trying to make the scales balance. Withholding it as though it were scarce. Storing it away as though I would be punished if I ever let it see the light of day. But I couldn't do it any longer. And I think when and while I tried I was letting a part of me die. In well over a thousand years I allowed myself one love affair because to deny it, I think might have truly killed me.

There was suddenly a knock on the door and the librarian entered.

Sirs, my apologies but the library will be closing soon. May I assist either of you in any way?

No, we were just leaving. I will of course return all the books to their proper location.

The librarian looked at the countless open books before us and blanched.

That won't be necessary, sir.

No, I insist. My friend here did have a question, however. Kostya, you were looking for books on Peter The Great, were you not?

He blinked for a moment but then nodded.

Yes, yes I am. Could you just point me to the section? I'll be back tomorrow to browse at my leisure.

I smiled at him and watched as the helpful librarian lead him out of the room. Once alone I took ridiculous handfuls of books and replaced them all, all 67, in around five minutes, meeting them both at the circulation desk. I handed the librarian a 20£ note for his time and the two of us left.

Forgive my poor math skills...but how old are you really? Konstantin asked once we were back on the street.

I was 22 when I was sent back in 101 AD so that would make me...um... 1714 years old.

My God... He whispered. You're actually telling the truth. The real truth. How easily I accept these ideas.

Mmhmm. I said simply. Now...I've done what I came here to do. I won't ask any more of you. You can return to the hotel and continue to live what I hope will be an untroubled and happy life.

And you?

I think I may have had enough of farm life for now. It lost it's charm when... In any case, I'm going to sell, or perhaps give it away. I think it's time to move on.

What will you live on? How will you survive?

Kostya, I have wealth beyond your wildest dreams, beyond even mine. I work to keep busy, I travel to keep sane and keep Amy safe. But I have no need to earn money. I only eat for the pleasure and taste. Once upon a time I had a family to support, but not anymore. I need nothing to sustain me. I just...go on. I tried to end the sentence with a chuckle but it fell flat.

I walked him back to the hotel, unburdened by the truth but feeling heavier than concrete at the idea of really leaving him, once and for all.

And if we started again? He said in a rush.

Again? I asked hopefully.

A new life. You and I. How many years do you have left?

Ummm, I'm not sure. My mate was a bit unclear as to what exactly was going to happen. The earliest would be 1989 so I guess I only have 179 years left give or take a decade.

I'm not sure I'll last that long though perhaps that makes it better. Because I am uncertain I could give you up to your Amy. So...may I have those years?

I broke into a broad smile. I would have taken him into my arms had we not been standing in the middle of the road, in Oxford, in pre-Victorian England.

Yes, yes those years are yours!

And that, as they say, was that. We went back to the hotel. I stayed with him that night and then left to return to settle business in Awlchester. I went into the village and stated that I wanted to put both farms, of which I now owned, up for auction, equipment, livestock, furnished houses, all of it on the block, all for an absurdly low starting bid. The funds from the sale should go to the community chest and not to me. The stored feed and grains in our barn were to be distributed evenly amongst everybody. They tried to talk me out of what they saw as a rash and un-thought-out decision but I would not be swayed. I returned to Konstantin's home and gathered the few things he had requested and then I returned to my own. I loved my house, but it was, once again, time to move forward. I got the personal belongings I was most attached to which like any other time I did this were few. I went to the barn with my wagon and slowly worked the Pandorica aboard. As I've said before, Doctor, as the years throttle forward it becomes harder and harder to transport the box without question. There's less wonder, less superstition, less magic. Still, then at least I could cover it with an enormous tarp and be on my way. I had already made expensive plans with the hotel Claridges in London to store the Pandorica with zero questions asked in their basement.

I gave up the collar and Claridges became our permanent residence. Oh, we traveled, extensively so, but that was home, where we always returned. I wanted to spoil him with food and drink and experiences and sights and sounds, and I did. Kostya was 36 when we reconciled and we stayed together for the next 44 years making an increasingly odd pair as he aged and I didn't. We saw the Worlds Fair, I kept hearing about a man who called himself The Doctor around 1851. Needless to say I got very excited but when I finally got a glimpse of him he A) didn't look familiar, not that I expected him to. And B) He had a balloon. Konstantin and I were on an extended trip of Europe when the whole Cyberking thing happened but we did arrive back in time to witness the destruction. And to hear the stories of the brave man who had saved all of London and then vanished.

That's him! Konstantin said upon hearing the tales. That's your friend!

It sounds as though it was indeed. I said with a fond smile.

* * *

I lost him in late December of 1860. He had so wanted to make it to Christmas though I had my doubts. But he was always one to defy the odds and we had one last celebration together.

Will you be alright? He asked me, as my son had, as Caoimhe had, as they all did. As they were slipping away _they_ asked _me_ if _I_ would be alright.

I'm not sure what life will be like without you. I said as I stroked his hair which had long ago gone a rather brilliant silver. I don't believe alright is the correct word. I will be heartbroken. That is what I will be.

Not so long now until you get your life back though, right?

You are just as much my life as what I'm running towards. I assured him. I hope you've always known that.

I have , Artyusha. I have.

Ahh but you can't leave me, you see. You always would have your hat in your hands and you'd twist it nervously when you were thinking about leaving. Do you remember? You did it the day I met you when you were going to leave the church. You did it when you were planning to bolt for London. You likely did it when you packed up and left the farm after you found out what I was. So you see, you can't leave me because you aren't twisting your hat. How could I possibly believe you're planning to go?

I had said all this in a near blubbering rush and he smiled at me tiredly raising a weakened hands to brush away my tears.

It must be so hard to love us as you do. Knowing this is always the end of the story.

It is hard. I nodded. But I wouldn't change it. Not for the world.

Remember when we used to pretend there were stars. Perhaps I am going to be among them. Or maybe I am the beginning. The first star. Perhaps after this there will be one star in the sky and it will only be yours. I will be there for you alone and you can shout to everyone, That is Konstantin and he is mine. You can't have him.

But of course he died. And of course there were no stars, Doctor. None at all. Just darkness, thicker and fuller than I could recall in recent memory.

I had a few bad years after that. Dark years. Destructive years. But I don't want to talk about that. I pulled out of it in the end and I found that after time my gratitude for the experience and the life I'd lived with him outweighed my bitterness at his loss. or maybe I'm summing up my bitterness and shattered heart with platitudes. Who's to say?

But, after a long while I was even able to celebrate Christmas again.

Doctor, I understand you don't like endings. But life is an ending. You once told me the TARDIS knows when we're going to die because she's seen the length and breadth of time and space. It's all already over, mate. Chapter written. Closed book. But that just means it's also only just begun. What shall we fill those pages up with? What will the next chapter bring? I'd closed off a bit after my son died and even more so with each passing century. Kostya helped me to open up again. And while the loss of him hurt more than I can say, I don't regret loving him or the time we spent together.

A very wise woman once told Amy, Cherry blossoms are only with us for a short while. The blossoms open, they reach full bloom within a week and a week later they're gone. The wind or a storm or time, simply having carried them away. But they were here and they deserve to be remembered and the world was sweeter for their having existed.

Love us for what we are, Doctor. I know how hard it is to hold a cherry blossom. It's hard to love a mayfly. But do it anyway.

That's all, mate. I've been writing for ages and while the computer helps, my hands are totally cramped. I think it's time to say goodnight and head to bed with the wife.

Merry Christmas, my friend.

All my love,

Rory 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was doing both Rory and Amy a disservice, my only solace is that I'm not the only one. With a few exceptions most stories that explore Rory's past guarding the Pandorica have him essentially play the eunuch. They focus on the battles he waged and the things he saw. And that's important and great, but he is a fully formed human being. He may be plastic but he has a heart and a mind. He would struggle, he would get exhausted, He would grow so, so weary and eventually I think he would detach and in all the ways that matter remove himself from the world entirely. No ones psyche is so solid, so unbreakable that they could survive without love and companionship and affection for 20 centuries and not fracture. The Doctor can't do it, that's why we have a TV program about him. To expect that of Rory is unreasonable and as I was writing this I realized it's also ridiculous. I also think Amy is mature enough and reasonable enough to accept this fact, digest it and move on secure in the knowledge that Rory loved and loves her.
> 
> Ok, well that's all I have, I made it just under the wire. It's after midnight on Christmas Day 2015 but I promised you a Christmas chapter and I hope I delivered and I hope you enjoyed it. Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, drop me a review should the mood strikes and have a wonderful day.
> 
> Maribor
> 
> 12/25/15


	226. July 5th, 1985

_**Curators Note:** _

_**We here at the Delirium Archive do try our best to remain impartial with regard to all exhibits. We wish to make it clear that the placement of the following letter was done by none other than Doctor Rory Williams himself. Though written but a few years before his death in 1987 he made the decision to alter the sequence and place it before this entry in 1965. We do not wish to speculate on his choice in doing so and we will decline from debating his wisdom at this time.** _

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**5th of July 1985**

Dear Doctor,

Sometimes, not often I find myself looking back on certain journals, certain entries and sections. Between Amy and I there are so, so many books now. The pages of which are growing older and more yellowed by the day. In general I think I try to leave the past in the past. I want to enjoy the present and the future, however much I have left. But, for the past few weeks I've been reading bits and pieces of 1965.

That was 20 years ago and so much has happened since then and while it hasn't all been a bed of roses I still believe that '65 may have been the worst year of my and Amy's life. Due respect to her majesty Queen Elizabeth, that was an _annus horribilis_.

I've felt out of control before, on occasions, sometimes long occasions. I've felt that the world was spinning so fast and so recklessly that surely I was going to be jettisoned off. But never like then. Never with the relentless drumbeat with which the feeling was ushered in that year.

I don't suppose it was a very good one for you either, mate.

Some of the entries just hurt to read. So why am I reading this? Glutton for punishment? Maybe the same reason I'm sitting here drinking New Coke even though I know its ghastly.

Maybe. Or maybe because remembering where I've been helps me realize how far we've come.

Or maybe because there's a certain superiority we all feel when thumbing through the pages of distant tragedy. Even when that tragedy is our own.

I don't know. I don't know that I care to know.

Alright, I should get going. I promised I'd take Harmony to the cinema to see Back To The Future.

I must say Doctor, I'm impressed the TARDIS never needed 1.21 jigowatts to get going.

All my love,

Rory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Queen Elizabeth once gave a speech in which she referred to 1992 as an annus horribilis or "horrible year". This was the time when, among other things, three of her children's marriages (Andrew, Anne and Charles) were falling or had fallen apart with some punctuated by tell all books, revealing pictures and transcripts of private conversations. Oh and Windsor Castle caught on fire. Incidentally, Princess Diana who was, before marriage, known as Lady Diana Francis Spencer is distantly related to Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill. Though most of you probably already knew that. She's also related to 8 US presidents. You know who else is related to Churchill? President Obama. Genealogy is crazy awesome isn't it? But I digress.
> 
> So, I've done it. I've skipped ahead.
> 
> 1965.
> 
> *Samuel L. Jackson voice* Hold on to your butts.


	227. July 16th, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence Lady Clementine Churchill to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

28 Hyde Park Gate,

London SW7 5DJ

16th of January 1965

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

It is with grave urgency that I dispatch this letter to you. My husband has requested of me that I contact you and asks that you come to see him at once. He mentions that a promise was made by you and that he feels it may at last be time that he, in his words, "get the story he is due". I'm not certain what that means. I only know he is desirous of seeing you and that much to my heart rending dismay, he is not long for this world.

I trust that you receive this letter in good health and in all due speed attend.

Lady Clementine Churchill, GBE


	228. January 18th, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Professor River Song/Melody Pond**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of January, 1965

Dearest Melody,

I was thinking about you today as I always do and I wanted to suggest something. We should take a trip together, you and I. The Worlds Fair was here in New York last year and its coming back again this April. I thought it might be nice if we went together. I had wanted to go in '64 but as you know that didn't exactly work out. I was so excited about the possibility of seeing artifacts from King Tut's tomb. But I have it on good authority from Wikipedia that they'll be back in New York in 1978. I can wait if you can.

Did I ever tell you that when I was in Egypt centuries and centuries ago I actually had occasion to see certain hieroglyphs? One in particular stands out. The Lost Pharaoh, Erimem, daughter of Amenhotep. She was apparently heir to the throne but history would see Thutmose IV ascend in her place. That's not the interesting bit after all history is full of almost kings and queens. No, the interesting part was a particular hieroglyph of an incongruously dressed man with blonde hair who appears to be driving a chariot next to the young woman. And between them. Floating in mid air is what seems to me to clearly be the TARDIS. He just can't stay out of the way of history, can he?

Which brings me to the place I'd really loved to have been able to visit with you some day. So after Amenhotep his son Thutmose IV ruled and after him there can Amenhotep the III also known as Amenhotep the Magnificent. Following his death these two massive statues, the Colossi of Memnon they're called, were built as monument to him and served to guard his mortuary temple. They're just huge and standing in the shadow of them you feel so small. But its a good sort of small. They've been standing, more or less for 3,400 years so they dwarf not just in size but in sheer lifespan. I say they've more or less been standing because in 27 BCE there was an earthquake and that quake severely damaged the northern statue and decimated it from the waist up.

After that, and this is the best part, people start to report that the statue would sing, always at dawn. And not just regular people either but philosophers, historians and Roman emperors who came to witness this phenomenon. And though they all described the sound differently the stones always sang at dawn. Can you imagine, a singing tower of rock?

In any case around 196 or 199 BCE sandstone was added to the upper tiers and the sound stopped. It was never heard again. There are theories that maybe due to the time that it would occur it was the sound of dew evaporating in the stones just as the sun took to the sky and warmed the earth. In any case, I suppose the rock was singing because it was broken.

Well, I can't exactly take you to see that and frankly I'd be a little hesitant to ask you to tax your vortex manipulator for a trip back that far. But your old dad can dream, can't he? You and I, standing there hand in hand at sunrise listening to a tower of stone that was already ancient when it was nearly destroyed as it started to sing.

A song for my Melody.

I suppose getting close to relics at the World's Fair in '78 will have to do!

So, do we have a date?

I miss you my little girl.

All my love,

Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Erimem is a character from the Big Finish stories that deal with the 5th Doctor. Erimem was supposed to claim the throne of Egypt but, long story short, she wound up traveling with the Doctor and Peri instead.
> 
> Feel free to look up The Colossi of Memnon. It's all true.


	229. January 30, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**30th of January, 1965**

Dear Doctor,

Winston and I finally had our long promised date.

He was terribly ill having suffered a stroke on the 15th of January. I received a letter from his wife and was on the next flight out.

I knew he was waiting for me and I wouldn't disappoint him.

I may have a rendezvous with death but it must wait for my rendezvous with my Amy. That's what Clementine told me he said before I arrived. So I composed myself, dried my tears and went into his room. I clasped his hand, kissed his cheek and poured us both tumblers of brandy. What could it hurt now? And I told him. I told him _everything_.

I had broken one of our hard and fast rules and taken my mobile with me. I showed him everything I could think of, the moon landing, the Mars colony, some pictures of the many places we'd visited, images and videos of everyday technology or what we considered everyday. I even showed him a Youtube clip of a movie based on his life. I read him excerpts from history texts. I told him about the wars that were to follow and the leaders that would take us there. I told him about his artwork selling for millions of pounds. I told him about the monarchy and King Charles who was rather swiftly followed by King William and Queen Catherine. I tried to touch on all the things I thought he might like to know and I answered every question I could.

I showed him some very old footage I'd taken of what it was like to step into the TARDIS. If memory serves I think I filmed a little bit after the Byzantium. I was sure he'd exclaim, It's bigger on the inside! But he didn't. Instead he told me that he'd _been_ inside. He'd seen you again, years and years ago during the war. That you, _this_ you, the you I know and he and a very young Kazran Sardak of all people had traveled back to Ancient Britain where he'd again seen one of his "Ironsides". That means it all happened while Rory and I were aboard spaceliner on our honeymoon. It all happened years and years before you lost us. Before we lost each other. Winston said that he played it very cool and close to the vest never letting on what was to come. I suppose that was the right thing to do. I _know_ it was the right thing to do. He did apologize though, for not telling me. Not telling me that he was off with not just 11 but 9 and 10 too. I suppose it's just as well. That's bound to happen isn't it? It's always been happening. You're sort of here now, just a shadow, a whisper, we've all always only _just_ missed you. If I think about it too much it makes me terribly sad. But then again, this is a day to be terribly sad.

Anyway, I spilled all the secrets and answered every single question he had. When he tired I let him rest and spent the passing hours with his wife and his children. It's funny, they still don't quite know or understand _who_ I am. Just the American woman with the Scottish accent. An old friend from the war years but just how we know each other, well that's a bit fuzzy. I like it that way as did Winston apparently. But they were welcoming and kind even in their sadness. I went back in a few times after that, sitting at his bedside when he called for me and telling him all our best stories and everything that I knew about you. The very last time he clasped my hand and said, Don't fear, Amy. it's all arranged. There are papers written, signed by Her Majesty's father ensuring the protection of you, your husband, your children and Bracewell. Your situation is known and provisions are made. My letters will be delivered upon my death to the Queen herself. You were under my protection and the protection of the Crown while I lived and so it shall be after I am gone.

Thank you, Winston. Though I do hope we manage to stay out of the kind of trouble that would require the intervention of a monarch.

I rather hope you don't. What would be the fun in that? There will, I think, be time for endless rest very soon. Thank you for keeping your promise, Amy. You have shown me such wonders, such kindness and you have been a true friend.

So have you, old friend.

I met Winston in 1941 and all told I knew him for 24 years. He slipped into a coma and died Sunday the 24th of January 1965.

I have just returned from his funeral which was an affair befitting a Caesar. I believe he would have liked all the fuss. Actually I know he would have because, despite my better judgement I showed him scenes of that as well. Everything is, of course, on YouTube. It was the largest state funeral the world had ever seen. I haven't seen the streets that full, that packed with people since V-Day. The same level of emotion, the same thrum but so, so different. So laden with sadness. And I was right there with them. The funeral was over by one and I watched as his coffin, draped in the Union Flag, was loaded into a hearse and driven away to Waterloo Station. And that was the last I saw of my friend. The last I would ever see.

Bracey was there. He just sort of appeared by my side earlier and he and I sat in St. Paul's Cathedral today during the service. He was steady but quiet. And he looked thinner. Though I know that's not possible. He's so very changed since Dorabella died. He's quieter. Smaller. And despite all my best efforts he refuses to come back home with me. We had lunch together but it was odd...stilted. It's never been like that before. And in between mourning the death of my mate I'm worrying about my friend still living. If you can call it that.

I'm going to see Vickie tomorrow. I'm not really expecting things to go all that well. Rory and I are still trying to persuade her to go to university but she has her doubts.

I'll catch you up later, Doctor. I think I'm going to draw a bath, have a lie down and try and forget this day.

Love,

Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the latest Big Finish adventures "The Churchill Years", Winston has several adventures with 9, 10 and 11. During the adventure with 11 he and Kazran go back in time and find a golden Dalek being worshiped by the ancient Brits.
> 
> Ok, so, I lost my job this past week. I knew it was coming as my contract was ending but it's still a pretty brutal blow. I say this not for sympathy but mostly to prepare you for what may be rather erratic updates in the future. This story is still a priority but I'm also just kind of...down. So, just wanted to let you know in case I vanish for a bit I'm still kicking around. Anyways, positive thoughts and or prayers are very much appreciated.
> 
> And feel free to drop a review should you see fit. Thanks, guys. :)
> 
> -Maribor 3/2/16


	230. January 30, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**30th of January 1965**

Dear Dad,

The year is 1965 and you're about to turn 6 which means I suppose you're not likely to remember or care much about what's happening in the world. I get that. I don't remember much if anything from being 6 either. The most popular toys for little boys this year include yo-yo's, lawn darts, cap pistols and silly putty. Did you have any of those? Toys don't seem to change much for kids do they? Not really. They get better, smarter, sturdier but some days it feels like it all still comes down to dolls and guns.

I suppose you were...are...were likely watching Blue Peter. I used to love that myself as a kid...as you likely remember.

I'm being evasive. Can you tell?

Tony has started his 2nd semester of his 3rd year at University. He's working hard, has a heavy course load, he's stressed but he's gutting it out as he always does. Every day I wake up elated to know that he has done the same here, in the states, in a dorm room as far away from the war as you can get. Each afternoon I check the mail dreading to see an official government letter there and feeling relief wash over me when I don't. Each evening I go to bed praying to some great benevolence that tomorrow will be a repeat of today.

He's so bloody stubborn, Dad. He won't talk with me about it. He won't have a _conversation_ with me. He won't tell me what he's feeling or thinking...or what he's planning. If he wants to go to Canada I will personally drive him across the border. If he wants to fly overseas until this is all over, Amy and I will see to it. Anything, anything, _anything_ so that he doesn't have to go to Vietnam.

January 21, 1977 President Jimmy Carter will pardon all draft evaders. That's 12 years and he wouldn't even have to stay away for 12 years. March 29th, 1973. that's when it all ends. That's 8 years from now. This is such a small slice of his life. A few years to just lay low and vanish and then he can start all over again. Or if he decides to stay in Canada or Britain so be it. But this shouldn't be an inevitability, Dad. It just shouldn't. I wonder what you would think of all of this. Which is not to say that I think for even one second I'm doing the wrong thing. Just wondering...

You never enlisted, never saw combat and I'm glad of that. There's no glory in it. It's just the worst sides of human nature acting out a miserable play. Only the dead have seen the end of war. People usually credit Plato with having said that but that doesn't appear to be accurate. But it doesn't really matter who said it. It's true. Even if you survive it still lives inside you. There's a part of you that's always fighting, a part of you that is always there even if you make it out. I don't want that for him.

Did you know the Doctor is a soldier? He doesn't like to talk about it or own up to it but its true. Don't let that sort of affable clown persona fool you. Oh its true enough but underneath there's something harder and darker.

Amy told me once that they were both in the library together. Now, the TARDIS had a massive library, an infinite library and somehow she happened to stumble across the one book that he didn't want her to. She said it was called The History Of The Time War. As she picked it up he stepped up behind her and took it out of her hands. She protested, you know, because she's Amy and asked him why. He said, it was dangerous. She said, isn't it just a story book, like Grimm's Fairy tales? He said, every book is a storybook in its own way, everything is a fairy tale too but that doesn't mean it isn't dangerous. Any book, Amy. Any book at all. Except this one.

Now...that was strange enough but what was even stranger, she said, was the fact that he kept hearing a sort of shuffling or crinkling coming from the book as he held it. Except he had it closed, he wasn't flipping through it. As he started to walk away she asked him, What's that noise?

It's the book. He'd said. It's writing and re-writing itself. The history of the time war isn't over. it's still happening. The book is bigger on the inside.

I think its a story of his life, a part he wants to forget. I think in that book is the largest and longest battle the Doctor has ever fought. I think his military commitment, strategy and losses make mine pale in comparison. I think my best friend knows war inside and out.

He told me once how on the last day of their great war...wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. The Last Great Time War was a battle, an epic battle fought between the Time Lords (the Doctor's people) and the Daleks, this malevolent hybrid race of living bodies encased in armored. You remember, right? You saw them, remember in '07 they invaded? Anyway this battle went on for thousands, maybe even millions of years. It stretched across the entire galaxy, across the entire universe. The very last last day of the battle, when their great city of Arcadia fell he was there. But he never talks about him. He talks about the young men and women that were called, coerced, influenced, bullied, teased into battle...and also those who volunteered. When I stated, Well, Doctor some of them must have volunteered he looked at me and said, No one can volunteer for war, Rory. You cannot volunteer for something you don't fully understand. You can volunteer for a bake sale or to help someone clean out a cupboard. You can volunteer for a task for which you have a reasonable understanding. You can follow your own ignorance, your own pride, your own foolhardy grasp in right and wrong and let it push you into battle but no one is capable of volunteering.

The Doctor never tells you everything right away. He leaks out bits of stories here and there. He told me one night that they wore this special gear. Gear that sometimes picked up odd and disturbing "transmissions".

Just how stupid did they think they were, those boys and girls who they sent off to die? How stupid do you have to be to tell a telepathic race that is time sensitive and currently standing in the middle of a causality loop to end all causality loops that what they're seeing aren't premonitions? Who would believe that? Well...I suppose technically speaking it wasn't a premonition because a premonition implies something that could happen, might happen. All these things did happen.

Did you see anything? I asked him.

Some of the lads would put on their suits and get dry-hooked into the system via the headcom. No prep, you know. In the old days this thing wasn't just done in a matter of seconds you had time to prepare yourself, think, relax, clear your mind of all that...darkness. But not then. Not anymore. Anyway, they dry-hook them in and suddenly they're connected to everything, I mean they were connected to it all. Everything that had happened in the war, everything that was happening, everything that would happen. Every single death was saved in the system. Of course it wasn't supposed to be accessible but it was. It was. They'd see skeletal faces behind their masks. There'd be a short circuit in their view screens and these bloody faces would appear, shouting for reinforcements, for backup, for help, for death, for someone to just make the endless time cycles of it all stop. If only they had listened to those premonitions.

Did you see anything? I asked him again.

Of course he didn't answer me. So I said, There's a story about Henry IV. He absolutely knew he would die in battle, used to tell us all the time. And he was certain that it would happen in Jerusalem on a great crusade to free the Holy Land. He was sick through all of his reign, various illnesses and disease and as he grew sicker he became more and more certain that death couldn't be near because he had yet to conquer the Holy Land. The night that he died he was taken to a room in the house of the Abbot, chap by the name of William of Colchester, in Westminster Abbey. Still not believing that he was about to meet his maker he asked Will where he was. Will said, Sire, you're in the Jerusalem room. He died not long after.

Thank you for that cheerful tale, Rory. What's your point?

I'll tell you my point in a second. Emperor Nero went to see the Oracle at Delphi when he was about 30. This was after he'd murdered his mum. He didn't even have time to pose a question. The oracle shouted at him, _Your presence here outrages the god you seek. Go back, matricide! The number 73 marks the hour of your downfall!_ Not exactly the welcome Nero thought he would get. So of course he had the poor priestess burned alive but he left feeling fairly good about himself. I mean living to 73 isn't bad and in antiquity it was even better. The thing is he was dead within less than a year. He committed suicide rather than face a certain tortuous death at the hands of a rebel leader Servius Sulpicius Galba Caesar Augustus who was 73 years old at the time. My point is that premonitions are bollocks. You can't figure them out, you can't plan for them, you can't account for the butterfly effect that's bound to happen. You know that better than anyone.

You believe in premonitions then? Actual premonitions?

I believe that the universe is a strange place and that maybe memory is a two way street. Maybe we can remember something that hasn't happened yet. But my larger point is what does it matter? How many times have you tried to change the future? Maybe everything is a fixed point when it comes down to it. What good is running from the war when its just going to catch you and laugh as it does? What's the point?

You may have just out-bitter-ed me, Rory.

I'm sorry, Doctor, I shouldn't compare-

No, that's not what I meant. I see no reason to put a measuring stick to our personal grief. I didn't take offense, mate. I just mean...I choose my companions for their laughter, their spirit, their light, if I have put you in the sort of danger...the sort of chasm that's made you lose that, then I cannot possibly apologize enough.

You haven't, Doctor. I reassured him. My conclusions are my own. Perhaps I'm just a bit down today.

He nodded before speaking.

You asked me two questions, What did I see and what is the point...I'll answer you now and then I'm sending you to bed. What I saw was my youngest daughter screaming for me.

My God...Doctor, I am so sorry.

He nodded again and continued.

I don't know where she was...what battle, what planet, what year. I didn't know if it had happened already or if it was yet to come. It doesn't matter. I only know that her last words were calling out for me.

I put my arm around his shoulders and he smiled faintly.

To answer your second question, what good is it, what's the point? We can but try, Rory. That's all we can ever do at the end of the day and if there's even a chance that we can change things, that without upsetting the correct balance we can make things better then that is all the point we need. Some times the way we change things isn't the way we assume. Sometimes changing things doesn't mean going around them but rather going through them. Have you forgotten that? The universe isn't always teasing us with premonitions and prognostications, signs and portents...sometimes its giving us the best break it can, eh? What's wrong with just giving it a shot? Time is not the boss of us.

That was where our conversation ended that night, Dad. We'd had a rough time of it. We'd...well lets just say we hadn't exactly won the day. Everything was suddenly just weighing on me heavily. But I had to think, if the Doctor, after all he'd seen could still have hope. If he still believed that even if 9 out of 10 prophecies were wrong we still had to act as though all of them were that one that was right.

I'm worried about my son and what's in store for him. I'm worried about inevitability. I'm worried about the fact that my best friend, a veritable oracle has all but decreed my boy is going to Vietnam.

That's all for now, Dad.

Love, Rory

_Filius est pars patris_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd never seen the movie "Born On The 4th Of July" with Tom Cruise before and finally did for the first time yesterday. It makes me simultaneously excited and overwhelmed with the upcoming prospect of writing Tony's experiences in Vietnam. But the only way out is through, right? I have the entirely of the internet at my fingers for a research and a sad and beautiful book I read as a kid called "Dear America, Letters Home From Vietnam" which is also, obviously, an epistolary book. I remember it being amazing and heartbreaking. I have no idea why I picked it up at like age 12. I think because there was a sad looking boy on the cover and I wanted to know who he was. I've always loved reading books comprised of letters, fact and fiction (like Dangerous Liaisons). It's just a compilation of soldiers writing home to parents, wives, girlfriends, buddies and students during the war. It tears you apart and maybe the worst thing is you get so attached to these young men and women and then get to the end of a letter and sometimes (not always) find out they were killed a week or a day after writing. It's powerful stuff, it will seriously rip out your soul and I absolutely recommend it.
> 
> The stuff about the headcam and the Fall of Arcadia is taken from the minisode "The Last Day". It's easy to find on Youtube if you haven't seen it and served as one of the prequels for Day Of The Doctor. Seriously, it's 3 minutes and 41 seconds of amazing and you need to watch it.
> 
> Completely unrelated I've started listening to the Big Finish audio adventures with 8 and Charley and I love them together! Charley is magnificent and 8 is quite dashing!
> 
> Ok, that's all!
> 
> -Maribor
> 
> 3/2/16


	231. January 31, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**31st of January 1965**

Dear Doctor,

It's been awhile since I've had a conversation so heavily peppered with the phrase, Mum, you don't understand! I met Vickie for dinner and we grabbed a table in the back so we could speak a bit more freely. She ordered a lager and I chose a glass of wine both of us apparently bracing ourselves with alcohol for whatever was coming.

You hate my hair. She said with an amused look on her face as she gestured to her afro.

Why would you say that? I love your hair.

It scared the devil out of Magda's mum. She said I'll never catch a husband looking like this. She said I look too militant.

Well, all due respect Magda's mum sounds a bit dim to me.

She nodded and cleared her throat.

So, how's Dad?

He's good. Oh, which reminds me. He wanted me to text a picture as soon as we sat down.

Mum... She whined but I pressed on.

Give us a smile.

She grudgingly obliged and I snapped the photo before anyone was the wiser and sent it off. He texted back soon after.

Dad says you look lovely and he misses you.

Tell him I miss him as well.

After replying I put my phone away just before the fish and chips arrived.

Your brother is doing well too, by the way.

I know, we write to each other all the time.

You do? I replied with surprise. I didn't know that.

Vickie responded with a shrug and shoved a few chips in her mouth. The silence went on broken only by an occasional teenager-y sigh.

Am I right in assuming your siblings know what you're about to tell me?

She glanced up and me and then away.

Yeah, I mean I talked to them both. Ok, look...I want to put off uni...indefinitely.

Indefinitely? I said trying to keep my voice even. I had expected something like this but I was at least anticipating a return date or maybe a proposal to take a semester or two off. Not indefinitely.

Yes, mum, you heard me, indefinitely.

As you can imagine, Doctor, things only degraded from there. After the fifth 'you-just-don't-understand I said;

Alright then explain it to me. Explain why you can't do the things you need to do, the things you want to do _and_ go to university?

Because my focus would be split. It is already. I want to organize, to protest, I want to change things.

She sighed and looked at me.

You just don't understand.

That was number six and I bit my lip before speaking. There was an elephant in the room that neither of us was addressing and if she wasn't going to do it then by God I was.

Vickie, do you...think I don't understand because I'm white?

To my surprise, _she_ looked surprised.

Huh? She frowned in what looked like genuine confusion. No, that's not it at all.

It isn't? Are you sure? Because if you felt that way I would respect that...I-

Mum, that's not it. I mean...I'm ashamed because I have to tell some of my friends that's the reason. But it's only because I can't tell them the _real_ reason.

What _is_ the real reason?

She lowered her voice and leaned closer to me across the table.

Because for you and Dad this is history. No matter how much you're involved, how much you care you...

She faltered and made an exasperated gesture with her hands before continuing.

A black President? A black Prime Minister? A black sovereign? Liz 10? How paltry this must all seem to you, mum. Like a well-known play that will all be wrapped up in the final act.

It's not paltry at all! I protested but stopped, wanting her to go on.

Don't get me wrong. I take comfort in the fact that there are better days ahead. But right now...Mum, you know Griffiths won the parliamentary seat in Smethwick last year? Do you know there were posters and billboards that said, "If you want a nigger for a neighbour vote Labour." He ran a blatantly unapologetically racist campaign and he won. There's a branch of the KKK that that just established itself in Birmingham and I don't mean Birmingham Alabama. There are bars and restaurants I can't enter, flats I can't rent, jobs I can't get. I know you sent me here hoping it would be a panacea, mum, but it's not. I love you and Daddy but I can't run from this and I can't hide in school. It's here and its real and everything you've seen...everything I've seen with Melody and the Doctor is very far off and far away. I'm here now. I have to live and behave as though I am and that means I have to do something. I'm not doing this in spite of you and Daddy. I'm doing it because of what you both taught me. All the things about equality and civil rights and what I deserve, what we all deserve. I want to do something. Remember the March? Remember that feeling. Standing there walking shouting, singing, crying with all those people? Remember holding our signs? Remember applauding until our hands were sore? Remember hearing Mr. Rustin speak? And Dr. King? Remember both of us frowning and looking at each other when they hustled the women off the stage and wouldn't let them talk. Were were both pissed off about that. Those were an amazing couple of days. I felt like we were really part of something, truly making a difference. I want to feel that again. University can wait. This can't.

I ran my finger over the rim of my glass, listening closely as she spoke. I didn't want to interrupt her, I wanted her to get this out. She deserved at least that. To hear my baby in pain killed me now as it killed me when she was little and back home in the states. I had always known, in some way, my hopes for her, for a life that somehow existed above the fray, was unreasonable. But we do cling to fantasy, don't we, Doctor?

You know...when your dad and I first got here I didn't handle it well. Not at all. He went into logical, sensible Rory mode and I just drifted away from him a bit. I got very, very depressed. One of the things that helped to pull me out of it was...oh God, I feel awful even saying it. A sort of feeling of temporal superiority. I knew what was going to happen because this was the past. The only thing that mattered was Rory and so long as we could stay distant from it I could pretend we weren't part of it. The hair, the clothes, the food, the slang, the cars, everything...what got me through some days was just pretending it was all dress up. Just one big play I was watching and that even if I could never get back home again at least I was experiencing that old adage, May you live in interesting times.

Daddy always said that was more of a curse than an adage.

I think he was right. Because when he got called up it was like I was yanked out of the audience of that play and thrust on stage. It was real then. More real than I could have ever imagined. And I hated every moment of it. After we got through that it wasn't so much a matter of superiority anymore but rather, extreme caution.

Mum, the last thing you and dad are is cautious. She said giving the first genuine smile since I'd arrived.

Not with the two of us, no. With you and Tony. We even started with your sister. We thought that contraption of hers was making her ill and we told her never to come back.

She never told me that.

Likely because, even though we mended things it still hurts her too much. My point is, we were content to live this out year by year. Adjusting as need be. But we didn't want that for you all, not for any of you. Melody has always been under orders that if anything were ever to happen to us, she's to collect you both and take you away from here.

What? She asked with disbelief.

It was more of an idea when you were small children but, truth be told, we've never exactly lifted that request. There are beautiful, peaceful, safe worlds, so much safer than this.

Typically, Doctor, I tried not to let the children see some of my bitterness and anger but for now I let a bit seep through.

This world, this universe has taken quite enough from your father and I. And if I could help matters I was going to shield all of you from it. If that meant...if it ever means sending you away then so be it.

But you can't, mum. First of all because like it or not, we're adults now, all of us. And because I'm here, knee deep in it. Plus, I regret to inform you, you raised us all with a conscience, social and otherwise. I can't ignore this. You know that.

Yeah...I know.

Vickie sighed and studied me for a, what about this? I go round the office and request the forms for delayed admission. That way you know I'm serious about it, ok?

Alright, what about this? I go round the office and request the forms for delayed admission. That way you know I'm serious about it, ok?

You'd do that? 

Of course I would. It's not like I wasn't looking forward to it. It's just it can't be right now.

Major still the same?

You know me, history all the way. It's impossible to pick a concentration, mind you. I'm drawn to everything. I blame Daddy. She grinned.

Reaching across the table I grabbed both of her hands and squeezed them.

Vickie, my beautiful little girl...you do what you need to do. And know that you have my and your father's unwavering support. I smiled and suddenly had to will myself not to cry. I thought it was only yesterday when she was a little girl.

You look like you're going to break into Sunrise, Sunset from _Fiddler_. Mum, it'll be ok, I promise. The worst that will likely happen is I'll get a lot of headaches from all the fumes I'll be exposed to painting protest signs. Stop worrying! She said returning the squeeze. I love you, Mummy. And I want to make you proud.

You make me proud every day. Alright, enough of this, enough tears. Want to go see _The Mousetrap_ with me at the New Ambassadors? I picked up some tickets for us just in case.

Do I? What are we hanging around here for? I hear it has a twist ending!

So, that's how that ended, Doctor. A truce of some sorts. I wonder if Rory could have brokered a better deal? I doubt it. I did my best and now after an emotional dinner and a fantastic night at the theatre, I'm off to bed.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love Amy & Vickie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to answer some questions posed in reviews and DM's. Yes, I have seen THORS and I loved it. Brilliant episode. It totally jossed my own Darillium one-shot but that's hardly a crime! At first I though it might pose a problem for this fic. I wasn't sure how to swing it but then I realized it actually fits perfectly into what I already planned to do, so that's sorted. I'm sad Moffat is leaving, he gave me my favorite Doctor, companions and of course River. I'm not looking forward to his exit.
> 
> So, I was always curious as to whether there was a Civil Rights Movement in the UK was similar to what happened here in the States. It was and it wasn't and I intend to explore that in some later chapters. The election I mentioned did happen. In 1964 Peter Griffiths, running a campaign based on racism and fear won the Smethwick Parliamentary seat.
> 
> I think there were two ways to go with this. The most obvious is to have Vickie experiencing things and seeing injustices because of her skin color that her parents can't exactly imagine. But that's been done and I don't think this is how Amy and Rory actually do see things. I think they're keenly aware so I opted not to go with the "clueless white parent" trope. That's boring. Instead, I wanted to address another fault that I intend to have mirrored with Anthony. Rory and Amy live their daily lives as citizens of the US. They work, they make plans, and if you ask them the year, they don't falter. They know where they are. And still...the world at large is history. Not paltry. Not unimportant. But still history. And certainly not something to risk your life over.
> 
> But ultimately this is a lesson Amy and Rory have to learn. Their children's journeys are just that, their journey's. They exist outside of their parent's boundaries, will, control and in some instances understanding. And they're very real, very concrete and very important.
> 
> I also think this perfectly parallels their daughter's life because instead of having a diary full of spoilers they have history books and Wikipedia. It also parallels the Doctor. He dips in and out of history, knowing the outcome and staying as unaffected as possible because it is all history. It's a problem so odd yet so familial for them. Something all four of them understand and butt heads against. Something very uniquely Pond. But not something that easily translates to their children.
> 
> Ok, that's all I got for now.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> -Maribor
> 
> 4/24/16


	232. February 15, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Correspondence from Mr. Martin Joseph Pail to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of February, 1965

Dear Amy,

I'm not certain if you know it or not but along with being your editor, I'm also your resident kook filter. You get a lot of crazy letters now and again and I usually toss them in the trash or respond with an autographed picture of you or the like. But today I got a really weird one that I can't make heads or tales of. I've enclosed it.

_Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,_

_First off I want to say that I'm not a fan of your books. Which isn't to say I dislike them but I'm a 53-year-old man who prefers autobiographies to fantasy. However, my daughter, when she was younger was a dedicated devotee of yours. Consequently, I have a rather odd and expansive knowledge of the things you write._

_Like I said, I'm more a fan of autobiographies, especially rare ones. I finally hunted down a book I'd been after for ages. Impossible to find, only a few copies of it even left in existence. It's called "A Mote Of Dust" and it was written by a 19th-century mathematician named Jackson Lake. But it's not about math like I thought it would be. It is in fact about your Doctor. I can only assume you must be familiar with it and that that's where you got the idea for your tales. Very imaginative on your part I must say. I understand how your writing would reference_ him _. What I don't understand is how his could reference_ yours _. Because you see, taped to the inside cover of this book, right at the end is an envelope. It's quite old and very yellowed and it's addressed to you and the gentleman you've mentioned as your husband. Now, the fellow I bought this from says that it's been sitting in an attic, gathering dust in his great grandfather's collections for over 75 years at least. He hasn't touched it. He's a butcher by trade and has no interest in either mathematics or fantasy. It looks as old as it should but I glanced at the copyright date and it's listed as 5222. It further reads "Thanks to the Bantam Publishing Company, Off World Division as well as the Felman Lux corporation for their generous donation." So, my question to you is, is this some sort of a gag? Because you've got to be cracking wise. I'm just not sure what young angle is, ma'am. Anyway, I thought I'd just let you know that I know. Am I supposed to do something now?_

_Yours,_

_Clive Barnaby_

So, that's it then. Clearly some fella whose flipped his lid. But then again sometimes you say things, Amy-

Ok, don't know what I was getting at there. My only point is while I'd typically give this the heave-ho into the trash. I thought you might like to have a look.

If there's anything you'd like me to do, just let me know.

Yours,

Martin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> The title of Jackson Lake's book is taken from a Carl Sagan quote I like. It's too lovely to cut it up so here's the entire thing.
> 
> "Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."
> 
> -Maribor
> 
> 4/24/16


	233. February 19th, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Correspondence from** Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to **Mr. Martin Joseph Pail**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

19th of February, 1965

Hi Martin,

Thank you for bringing this to my attention promptly. I'll be contacting Mr. Barnaby myself. Just get me his address as soon as you can.

Thanks again!

Amy


	234. February 23, 1965

* * *

_**Curators Note: It would appear that Doctor Williams printed out this page of Amazon reviews for the book by Jackson Lake and placed it, un-dated, in his journal. Amazon appears to have been an online site where a variety of goods could be purchased.** _

_**We submit the page here without further comment.** _

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

* * *

**A MOTE OF DUST**

August 1872

_By Jackson Lake_

_OUT OF PRINT_

** **

**5 Stars! A Rare Jem!**

By **OldSchoolSciFiNerddd** August 15, 2001

I remember having this book recommended to me by a Calculus professor back in college, Mr. Timothy Latimer was his name. He was an odd sort of duck but he took a liking to me. He knew of my affinity for science fiction. I was a huge fan of Asimov and Clarke and Heinlein and basically anything I could get my hands on. One day after class he hands me "A Mote Of Dust" and I tell you I almost groaned. I was barely hanging on in Calc. as it was and here comes Mr. Latimer with extra work. But he saw the look on my face and kind of grinned and said this is different.

Boy, was it.

It's...well I can't quite describe what it is.

I devoured this book. Once I was finished I hurried back to Mr. Latimer to discuss it. We ended up sitting in his stuffy office talking for hours. To hear him tell it, Jackson Lake was an unsung genius and I'm inclined to agree. This man was advancing and supporting ideas that surpassed the theory of relativity at least 30 years before Einstein even came on the scene. His concept of space, time, even time travel are so incredibly advanced he should be required reading. And yet he's essentially forgotten. Maybe it's because he chose to intersperse his theories with tales of this character he invented called The Doctor. Presumably, this was to make it more palatable to the masses. But I suppose it stretches his credibility. For instance, sometimes there is an odd shift of tenses where he presents himself as if he _were_ the Doctor. I can only assume this was the editor's fault and not Mr. Lake's. I think some people may feel it takes away from his ideas but it's simply the framework and an incredible one at that.

It was the last day of winter break and I'd already missed two trains but Mr. Latimer and I promised to meet up once classes resumed. He said he had a story of his own he wanted to relate to me. Unfortunately, Mr. Latimer passed away and we never got that second meeting.

He'd told me to keep the book and for years I treasured it, returning to its comforts often. It was old even then and I had to be pretty careful turning the pages because they had a habit of falling out. Sadly the book was lost along with a great deal of my other prized possessions in a fire at my home years back. Since then I've never been able to get my hands on another copy.

Mr. Latimer was a tough old guy. Very English, very proper. He fought in both World Wars and always carried around this fob watch. All these years later and I still regret that I never got to hear the story he wanted to tell me.

In any case, if you can get your hands on this book I highly recommend it. As for me, I think I'll be combing old bookshops until I die, searching for A Mote Of Dust, Mr. Lake, Mr. Latimer and the Doctor.

11 out of 11 people found this review helpful Was this review helpful to you? Yes/No

* * *

** **

**Do. Not. Trust. This. Man.**

By **TruthByClive** May 2006

If this book is half as dangerous as the man it refers to then I would advise you to stay away from it!

In fact you should all stay away from anyone named The Doctor! He is dangerous!

For more information please visit my site who-is-doctor-who dot co dot uk / index1 dot shtml

I have the TRUTH!

0 out of 11 people found this review helpful Was this review helpful to you? Yes/No

* * *

  _3 Comments_

 By **CoreyB** December 2006

It doesn't seem right that we should have a nutter review bringing down the average for this book.

* * *

 

By **AllyBallyhoo** July 2007

For God sakes SHUT UP! On every one of Amelia Pond-William's old books this guy appears in the reviews shouting and ranting about his nonsense. These books are CLASSICS! He should be BANNED from Amazon! I am so sick to death of seeing him! But...I will say he hasn't left any new comments in almost two years. Thank God for small favors, as they say.

* * *

 

By **JohnSmith** Month/Year Unavailable ( **Amazon apologizes for this error. Engineers are working to correct it!** )

Clive, Clive you worry too much, mate. This is all a misunderstanding. One day you and I are going to sit down, have a cuppa and straighten all this out. Cross my hearts!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I named the current owner of the book who contacted Amy's publisher Clive without realizing the guy in charge of the who-is-doctor-who website from the "Rose" episode was also named Clive. Just take it as the coincidence that it is, I swear I meant nothing else by it.


	235. March 14, 1965

**14th of May, 1965**

**Torchwood One**

**Communique** **to Torchwood Black**

Be advised

General Charles Marchant is not a Torchwood operative.

We have confirmed his association with Project Blue Book.

Current status and subject of his investigation are unknown.

You are ordered to stand down until further information can be attained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This note is a bit personal and I'll likely edit it out in days to come. It's 5/17/16 and today I have the interview of my life. This is just the first round of a couple interviews but each of them is a hurdle and if I scale this one there's just one or two left. I've been trying to land this position since December and this job would change my life. That's not hyperbole. It's fact. So, I know this is odd but here goes. Any good thoughts, prayers, good wishes, crossed fingers, positive energy etc. etc. that you could spare would be so appreciated. I want this job. I need this job and it would make me so, so happy. And as my last pitch to you guys, happy Maribor means lots more chapters. :) I think I even have a few more for you tonight.
> 
> Ok, that's all. Thank you in advance.
> 
> -Maribor


	236. March 15, 1965

_**Curator's Note: To avoid confusion after the initial introduction of the participants they will be identified only by their first and last initials** _

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Anthony Brian Williams to Miss Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: London UK, Luna University**

So, how did it go? You said you'd write as soon as it was over and it's been nearly a month. Did Mom flip? Or better yet did you cave? I know you caved, didn't you, caver? Come on, I was going to go to the movies tonight but I'm out of bread. I'm bored, Goober, write back. You know I'm desperate, I'm using this weirdo paper.

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Anthony Brian Williams**

I didn't cave. I stated quite plainly what I was going to do and we agreed, like adults. I'm taking some time off.

You stated quite plainly, eh? Now, what really happened?

I think I whined a little and explained and then said I'd go to the office and get some information on delayed admission. Which of course I have. You're right. That's not at all the battle plan I went in there with. It's mum's face. It's just so...you know.

That look that says I-can-wait-all-day-for-you-to-come-around-to-my-way-of-thinking.

That's the one.

You're lucky it wasn't Dad.

You ain't fooling. Tony, let's get out of here for awhile.

What do you mean?

I'm looping Melody in.

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mr. Anthony Brian Williams and Miss Victoria Lake Williams to Professor River Song/Melody Pond**

Mels! London Calling!

**MP to AW and VW**

What a pleasant surprise!

**VW**

You busy, sis?

**MP et al**

For you two, never. What's up?

**VW**

We need a holiday.

**MP**

Oooh, I'm listening.

**AW**

Now, wait a second. I didn't exactly agree to that. I've got classes and-

**VW**

Time travel, Tony!

**AW**

You know I don't like going off-world, Vick.

**VW**

Yeah, but why?

**MP**

Vickie, we mustn't pressure him.

**VW**

Ok, alright but I'm just saying you deserve this. We all do. It's not easy being the kids of the perpetually perfect Ponds.

**MP**

I second that.

**AW**

...What kind of place were you thinking of?

**VW**

Hooray! That's the spirit, old boy.

**AW**

Stop being so British. I just want to have fun. I don't want to be running from anything or eat anything that could eat me.

**MP**

If you're serious, Tony, I know just the place.

**VP**

Come on, Tony, what's your answer?

**AW**

Ok, I'm in. Just this once, I'm in.

**VW**

Brilliant! Melody will the Doctor be joining us?

**MP**

No.

**VW**

That's it? Just no?

**MP**

He doesn't come with me everywhere. I'm not certain where he is at the moment. Can't exactly say that I care, truth be told.

**VW**

Hey, is everything ok? I mean-

**MP**

Are we ready?

**AW**

Yeah...sure

**MP**

Tony, I'll be there presently. Vickie, you're next. Pack a bag, you two!


	237. March 15, 1965 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of March 1965

Dear Doctor,

I was contacted by a strange woman a little less than a week ago named Kathy Marchant. I apologize, I've just been so busy I didn't have a chance to tell you. Initially, I thought she was a fan but as it turns out she was personally unfamiliar with my work. Instead, she told me that I was someone her father, General Charles Marchant had mentioned. She then bluntly asked me if I knew anything about extraterrestrial life. I laughed and told her I was just a storyteller and that was all. I'm fairly certain the words, I don't believe in all those flying saucer stories, left my mouth.

My father works for Project Blue Book, ma'am, a government-funded study conducted by the United States Air Force and he most certainly does believe in flying saucers. He has no patience for whimsy or fantasy he cares only about cold hard fact and when I, quite accidentally, saw your name mentioned in his files I took notice.

Well...what did it say?

It mentioned a place called Kelly-Hopkinsville. I'm still conducting research on just what that means. And there were two other words, Viable Witness.

I don't think I have to tell you, Doctor, that those two words made my blood run a bit cold.

I'm a reporter, Mrs. Pond-Williams-

Amy is fine. I said quickly.

I'm a reporter, Amy, and I know there's a story here. I've read what you wrote during the war.

Those were just tales, little slice of life vignettes about women I knew. Certainly nothing other worldy was mentioned.

Maybe to the average person they were just tales, but I think I know your style, and I think you're just as interested in digging up truth as I am. And what I know is that my father doesn't just casually write someone's name down. So...because I think you know something I'm going to tell _you_ something I probably shouldn't. I was recently contacted by a man, a scientist named Byron Carter. This man said he had first-hand knowledge about an alien ship that crashed in London and another one that landed here in New York. Something is going on, Amy, and I'm going to find out what it is but I need your help. Mr. Carter promised he would assist me but now he's gone missing. I can't reach him at all.

What is it you expect that I can do?

I don't know, but that's because I don't know your story. But I should warn you. Unlike me, my father won't announce his presence with a polite phone call.

I paused for a moment.

I've dealt with men like your father before, Kathy. And if he thinks I'm too gun shy or green to handle him he is sorely mistaken.

I do believe you, Amy. So, will you meet me? For dinner, coffee, whatever? I don't care but I need to gather some more information and see you in person.

Oh, Doctor, I don't know why I agreed but I did.

Alright...when?

In a few days. I'm still looking for Carter and I need to bring together some loose ends. Plus there's another story that's completely unrelated that I need to cover as well. Some nonsense about a church. I'm local and I'll call you soon.

Alright.

With that, we hung up. I'm still not sure what this could possibly have to do with me or Rory but I already sent out a letter to Torchwood and you saw their reply. As unhelpful and uninformative as ever.

It seems like we would have known if there was a crashed vessel in London, or if not us, Jack, or if not Jack Torchwood. I don't like being in the dark like this. It feels wrong somehow.

I'll let you know when I know something.

* * *

Doctor, a few hours after I finished this entry I got a postcard in the mail from Kathy.

_Dear Amy,_

_I was so wrong! I was suspicious for nothing. In fact, something wonderful has happened. Something the whole world will realize soon but I want you to see it now. Will you come to the Mercy Chapel? It's a tiny rundown church, it looks near to falling apart. Please say you'll come! You won't regret it._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

Kathy

I'm going, Doctor, don't try and talk me out of it. I need to know what's changed her tune.

It's been a very long time since I was in church. This should be interesting.

Love across the stars,

Amy


	238. March 15, 1965 (Rory)

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**15th of March 1965**

Dear Doctor,

Something really weird happened today. I had a 3 o'clock appointment with Mr. Herschel Parsons. He'd been seeing me for years and I did my best to help him manage his condition. He always tried to be on time for his appointment but I knew if it was raining or snowing, essentially anything wet he'd be moving a bit slower than normal. 3 o'clock, usually meant 3:15 or 3:30 but I made sure to clear my schedule on his day to come round. It had rained for the better part of the week and I pulled out my iPad and brought up The Journal of Impossible Things determined to finally start in on it because I knew I'd have the time. 

But Mr. Parsons was early. Not late, not on time, but _early_...and without his cane.

Mr. Parsons has... _had_ rheumatoid arthritis, and it was severe. I don't have to tell you, of course, you're a doctor, but we are decades away from any treatment that provides the level of medication and pain management he needs. Indocin, Imuran, Naprosen, Voltoran, Daypro, Remicade, Effene, Noratrax all of them ages away. As it stood I was treating him as best I could with methotrexate and trying to manage the harsh side effects.

But the man who entered my office didn't look like he needed that anymore. In fact, he didn't look like he needed medication of any kind.

Helloooo Dr. Williams! How are we today?

I'm quite well, how are you?

Fit as a fiddle. But I think you can see that can't you? Just came over here to tell you, so long.

So long? I questioned with a frown. Why don't you have a seat?

Don't need to sit. He said with a grin. Don't feel like sitting. In fact, I may never have to take a load off again, Dr. Williams. You know that old Poem? You Are Old, Father William?

Uh, yes, by Lewis Carroll.

That's right!

It was a sort of callback to an even older poem called The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them by Robert Southey. My wife told me that a long time ago. Funny how the parody outlived the original. The parody is all that remains.

I don't know about all that. I just know they used to make me recite that in class when I was a youngster.

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,  
"And your hair has become very white;  
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—  
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

See, I can still remember it.

Well done. I said with a smile that I hope didn't belie the thoughts passing through my mind.

Oh, not that I was calling you old, Doc.

No, think nothing of it.

How old are you, anyways?

I'll be sixty come December.

He eyed me with surprise. Sixty? Why I didn't think you were even close to that. I'm only about fifteen years older than you.

As a side note, Doctor that's happening more and more. Not sure what it is but Amy gets it too. It's like we're aging a bit slower...or at the very least we just seem to look it. Maybe we just did so much hard living when we were younger our bodies adapted. In any case to break Mr. Parsons' scrutinizing stare I tried to redirect the conversation back to the subject at hand. I do think I'm writing this all a bit drier than I was actually feeling at the time. In the moment I was dumbstruck.

So, you no longer require my services is what you came to say?

Ah, yep. I haven't felt this good in years.

And how did this come to pass? Not to put it too bluntly and not that I could tell you anything you don't already know but you were very, very ill, Mr. Parsons.

Well, sir, I did something I haven't done in ages. I went to church.

You went to...church?

I suspect you're not a religious man, what with science and all but trust me when I tell you that they're working miracles down there. I'm cured.

Yes, well, be that as it may, you wouldn't mind if I examined you, would you? For old times sake?

Not at all, Doc. He said cheerfully and hopped up on the table with ease.

And so I gave him a once over. But an up-close look just confirmed what I already knew. The swelling, the redness, the stiffness, the twisted, painful looking hands. It was all gone. I tested his muscle strength, his reflexes, along with his blood pressure, his eyesight and his hearing. I tested everything I could. The only conclusion I could come to was that the man before me showed no signs of the hunched person who diligently but grimly trudged into my office for checkups. He wasn't younger, he wasn't different, he was just the picture of health. My heart felt happy for him but I admit my brain was rather horrified. I know...if anyone should be alright with the unnatural it's me. And still...

Well, before you go, Mr. Parsons...Herschel, if I may, can you tell me where this church is? Perhaps I'd like a dose myself.

Really? Well, I don't mean to act suspicious. It's not a secret. They want us to spread the word.

They?

Yeah, the Gods of the Latter Day Pantheon, praise them. Mercy Chapel, it's not far from here. You know it?

I do. The Gods of the-

But he cut me off, Doctor, with a wave of his hand.

I would love to stay and chat Dr. Williams and you have been nothing but kind to me these past years. I'll always be in your debt. But I don't want to spend even another minute in a doctors office for as long as I live.

He shook my hand heartily and soon after he was gone. I doubt I'll ever see him again.

I've never heard of the Gods of the Latter Day Pantheon and I don't like the sound of their nonsense name.

Of course, I'm going to check out.

But you already knew that.

First, I'm heading home to tell Amy.

I'm sure I'll have more to tell you late.

Take care, Doctor.

Love,

Rory


	239. March 20, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Excerpt from _New York Daily Column_

_Published March 20th, 1965_

_Afternoon Edition_

**STRANGE HAPPENINGS AT MERCY CHAPEL**

By: Christopher Self

There's been a surprising amount of commotion as of late around Manhattan Mercy Chapel. The small and unassuming building has been a subject of growing local and not so local interest in the recent days. It all seems to center around five out of towners who've recently taken residence in the tiny church. But from just how far out of town are they? Adherents to these strangers are making some outrageous claims. Some are saying they've been performing miracle healings. Others are claiming they're gods of some sort. While the strangest gimmick may be that they're from outer space-


	240. March 23, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**_18th of March, 1965_ **

_Transcript from WCBS-TV News at 11._

_Not exact but best as I could get it. Amy and I were in the car listening to the re-broadcast on the radio._

* * *

Newscaster: And you, Miss, what's your name?

Girl: Dorothea, but my friends call me Dodo. Miss Dodo Chaplet

Newscaster: You're obviously not from here. Where are you from?

Dodo: London! Am I on telly!?

Newscaster: Yes, yes you are. Tell me, what brings you to Mercy Chapel today. Are you here to see the gods?

Dodo: We're..erm...we're here...

Newscaster: "We're" So you came with a group?

Dodo: No, just Steven and the Doctor.

Newscaster: You say you were brought here by your boyfriend Steven? He's a doctor? Are you ill? Do you expect the gods can heal you?

Dodo: Not _a_ Doctor. _The_ Doctor. I-

Unknown voice off screen: Come along, my dear. We must be off.

Dodo: Sorry, I've got to dash!

Newscaster: And there you have it, people coming from far and wide believing they've found a cure for whatever ails them just like that young lady there.

* * *

You're _here_.

Right now, Doctor, right here in 1965.

We have no idea what you look like and things are happening so fast we don't even have time to find out.

I haven't got time to write much more. I've got to go.


	241. March 25th - April 15, 1965

**New York Bulletin**

**25th of March 1965**

_**Editorial** _

**We Need Not Fear**

**By Kathy Marchant**

Given recent events and my proximity to said events I have been given leeway to abandon my typical journalist detachment. I will, instead address you, my readers using a more informal and admittedly biased tone.

This will be the first in a multi-part series on the Gods of the Pantheon. Praise their names.

On March 7th our world was presented with an unexpected gift. Six amazing beings arrived on our planet bringing with them a graciousness and benevolence I can scarcely put into words. But I will try.

Everything you have heard is true. The Gods of Myth have returned and we should welcome them. In the past few days I have seen miracles only spoken of in ancient myths. The blind have regained their sight. The lame have been made to walk. The sick have been healed.

They walk the streets of New York and have been offering their assistance to any who ask. They have taken Mercy Chapel as their home base and here they dole out their blessings to the massive crowds which grow larger every day. They ask for nothing in return and truly we do not have the means to pay them back.

I count myself lucky to have spoken with the Patriarch earlier today for a lengthy interview. He praised the human race on our accomplishments and achievements. But he expressed distress at the problems that plague us still. He and his fellow beings have promised to solve all that is wrong, unfair and unjust.

The scales will be righted and in their infinite wisdom, we will find a new freedom.

I assure you, I was a skeptic at the onset and only made a believer by what I witnessed time and time and time again with my own eyes. I urge you to do the same. Make your way to Mercy Chapel and prostrate yourself before that which is truly Holy.

Allow yourself to be healed.

I'll see you there.

* * *

**27th of March, 1965**

**Police Blotter**

Police were called to a disturbance today. Witnesses reported that an individual identifying himself as a member of the so-called Latter Day Pantheon arrived and offered to settle the dispute. The argument continued until the "god" incinerated one of the gentlemen involved in what was described as a large fireball. No arrests were made and an investigation is pending.

An unruly crowd was dispersed today on the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street. They had assembled to hear the "Patriarch" speak. His political statements angered certain members of those gathered and a large fight began. When police arrived the crowd was broken up but the "Patriarch" had vanished.

A woman filed a missing persons report today regarding her husband Franklin Wheeley. Mrs. Debra Wheeley states that her husband has been missing for over 48 hours. Mrs. Wheeley says that she had an argument with her husband earlier in the week, the disagreement turned physical, she left their home and when she returned he was gone. Mrs. Wheeley states she has no idea of her husbands whereabouts. However she does mention she spoke with one of the "Gods" of the Pantheon and in anger said something in the nature of "I wish he'd go away and never be found again."

* * *

**New York Times**

**28th of March 1965**

_Out Front With Farnsworth Daley_

**An Interview With Alexander** Lullington **-Smythe**

"They turned me into a leech!"

This is just one of the many outrageous claims made by Mr. Alexander Lullington-Smythe, theater agent and former manager for the "Gods of the Pantheon". Is was Mr. Lullington-Smythe who first brought the Gods to national attention at Mercy Chapel. Introducing them as the creatures to cure all mankind's ills they took center stage while he presumably pulled the strings of this boondoggle and collected his reward.

But Mr. Lullington-Smythe has a different version of events to tell and considering that he and the Gods have parted ways quite recently he seems very willing to tell it.

FD: Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today, Mr. Lullington-Smythe.

LS: Alexander will do. And you're welcome.

FD: How exactly did you come to be involved with the G.O.T.P?

LS: I heard about them in the early days like everyone else. Walking around New York passing out miracles and other goodies for free. But no one ever knew where they were or where they'd be. I thought I'd do the city a service and have them all in one place.

FD: That's how they came to be at Mercy Chapel.

LS: Yes, sir, it is.

FD: Alexander, just how much money did you make on this venture.

LS: Not a cent. Not one red cent, in fact, I lost money. I told them we should start charging something, any little thing. That was when things fell apart.

FD: How do you mean?

LS: Well, they had all their followers gathered around. And at first they, the Gods, I mean, seemed pretty neutral to the idea. I think I could have brought them over to my side. But then the crowd started talking to them. Saying I was the bad guy and I was just out to make a buck. And you could see them change. You could see them change their minds right then and there.

FD: Then what happened?

LS: They got more and more ticked off see? Then they turned me into a leech!

FD: I'm sorry?

LS: I say they turned me into a leech!

FD: A leech

LS: I got better.

FD: Were you ever an adherent?

LS: IF you're asking did I dig what they were saying, no. I'm not a religious man but more than that I'm not a fool.

FD: So you believe their powers are fake? That this is orchestrated? If that's true, Alexander how do we know you're not involved, even now?

LS: Now hold on. I didn't say that. No, I've seen what they can do, their powers are as real as they come. I've seen them heal people. I've also seen them kill people.

FD: Kill people?

LS: Oh yeah, that's right. But that's not even the scariest part. The scariest part is they do it because people tell them to. They get confused, you see. Somebody says, this guy in jail, he's a murderer! He's an awful person. He should die. So they set out to kill him, right there in his jail cell without even laying eyes on him. But then somebody else says, No, you're wrong. killing is wrong. And they get confused, see. Then they get angry.

FD: Do you believe they can do what they say they can?

LS: What you mean end the war? World peace? I suppose if enough people want it.

FD: How do you mean?

LS: This is Oz, my friend and we're all wearing ruby slippers. All we have to do is wish and believe and they'll make it so. But what does the genie do when too many people are rubbing the lamp at once?

FD: I'm afraid I don't follow you.

LS: You will. In fact you'd be a real smart guy to follow me because I'm getting the hell out of New York while I can. It probably won't matter but still. There's no stopping this, no matter what that doctor says. You know what I heard they're doing now? Sending people to "Heaven" in Central Park. Your guess as to what that means is as good as mine. All I know is my sources told me people are crossing over a bridge and disappearing and not coming back. There they go like lemmings to the slaughter.

FD: Lambs.

LS: Pardon?

FD: They saying is like lambs to the slaughter.

LS: I said what I meant and I meant what I said.

FD: This sounds like quite a tale to spin, Alexander.

LS: I don't really care if you believe me or not, Mr. Daley. I know what's true. I know what I've seen. And I know where we're heading. None of its good.

FD: Thank you for your time, sir.

LS: One more thing. You mark my words. They're going to find a way to blame it on me. The government, that General, that creepy doctor. One of them, all of them are going to say that this was somehow my doing. Trust me, I ain't that talented.

* * *

**CBC Radio**

**Breaking News**

**30th of March, 1965**

**2:43 PM**

Disturbing reports today from Bow Bridge in Central Park. The "Gods" and their followers have assembled and are passing through some sort of window to another world. The G.O.T.P. promise that it is an individual paradise. Police are on the scene, however, a spokesman for the department states that as no laws are being broken there's nothing they can do.

"You're here just to watch a spectacle but this is real." Said Brendan Muller, 24. "We are all here to ascend to a higher plane." Mr. Muller stated that he had been following the "Gods" since their arrival in New York and spent several minutes expounding on their meaning and message.

"The government is just afraid of them because they're going to bring about peace on Earth." Said Madeline Stokes, 62. "Who loses if there are no wars? The military, that's who? This is the Military Industrial Complex that President Eisenhower warned us about three years ago."

This is not the first time it's been mentioned that the "Gods" are planning to bring about some sort of utopian peace. Military vehicles have been amassing though any outreach made to the Pentagon has yielded no comment.

* * *

**New York Post**

**Morning Edition**

**31st of March 1965**

Journalist Kathy Marchant caused quite a stir yesterday evening when she interrupted a live news broadcast with a personal plea.

"I'm more than partially responsible for all this." Miss Marchant began speaking directly into the camera, as anchor Owen Brooks looked on in surprise. "I gave them the publicity. But please, you have to listen to me. You have to listen to the Doctor. They are not taking you to Heaven. I know, I wrote about them and I encouraged you to believe and that's the problem. The more you believe the stronger they get! They're made in our image, not the other way around. Please hear me! They say they can stop the war. I know it sounds like a good idea but it's not. If we let that happen. If we believe they can do it then there's no stopping them. Don't believe them! They're nothing! They're phonies! They're liars! It's all a hoax and a scam and a lie. They can't do anything they promise! You're being deceived! You're being deceived! You're be-!"

After this shocking diatribe, Ms. Marchant was finally removed from the studio and the evening news continued as scheduled. I've been told the station was inundated with phone calls for hours afterward requesting further information regarding the unplanned outburst.

* * *

**3rd of April 1965**

**Buffalo-Courier**

**Greg Meddelton**

**Twilight Of The "Gods"?**

Interest in the so-called Gods of the Pantheon seems to be waning in recent days as the number of followers have dwindled. The narrative has changed as people appear to be losing their faith in the strange beings. One older gentleman we spoke to stated definitively that the Gods were not to be trusted. We located him and his wife near Central Park alerting passers-by and anyone who would listen about the folly of following the Gods. The man, who claimed he was a physician, further said he had been suspicious of them from the start and doubted they could survive a full-fledged attack. His wife, who stated she was a writer by trade, agreed. Both declined to be identified by name for this piece.

* * *

**WKRN Radio Broadcast**

**Afternoon Edition**

**5th of April 1965**

Reports that the Air Force has been scrambled to deal with the escalating situation are unconfirmed. However, listeners have been calling in this radio station to report loud explosions and the signs of a firefight overhead. Others have reported air raid sirens going off. Unofficially we are advising our viewers to seek immediate shelter. Everyone within listening range of my voice is now urged to take cover. The Air Force is reportedly in possession of a device that will end this once and for all. I advise everyone to clear Sheep Meadow and the Central Park region in general. This is not a drill. Once again, unofficially, final plans appear to be in motion to eradicate the threat of the Gods of the Pantheon once and for all. They cannot survive this onslaught. Evacuate Sheep Meadow. Evacuate Central Park. Seek shelter. I repeat, this is not a drill..."

* * *

**American Broadcasting Company**

**Evening News**

**12th of April 1965**

A week since the events at Sheep Meadow and further details are slowly coming to light. Initial reports stated that the "Gods of the Pantheon" were destroyed when the military, in a last ditch effort dropped a bomb on Sheep Meadow in Central Park. Unnamed sources now admit that the supposed bomb that was dropped was in actuality an unarmed decoy. Miraculously, there were no reported injuries in the melee following the mass evacuation of the park prior to the "bombing".

Some of those most closely involve with the incident have been impossible to reach. Kathy Marchant and her father General Marchant, several people who were seen repeatedly in and around Mercy Chapel and Central Park, a young English woman, and two men, one who was presumed to be her boyfriend or brother and the other her elderly father, a doctor.

* * *

**Editorial**

**Manhattan Daily Dealer**

**15th of April, 1965**

**God Complex**

**By Norris Hoskins**

This reporter said it at the time though no one would listen. Just as Orson Welles fooled the gullible public in 1938, so too have we been fooled again, this time by a two-bit huckster named Mr. Alexander Lullington-Smythe. There are no aliens, my friends and there never will be. This entire farce was orchestrated by people only too happy to pull the wool over the eyes of an already shell-shocked public. I would advise anyone planning on similar moves to promote their latest film, or record or television program or upcoming book engage in some serious should searching and weigh the havoc and mania they would cause against one or two days of cheap and tawdry publicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, a bit of explanation, I've actually been planning this since I first started this story, like literally about three chapters in. I needed to see if the Doctor visited NY and I found this book by Steve Lyons called "Salvation". His plot is sort of incidental to mine but it is detailed essentially like I've written here. Aliens arrive and they are basically blank slates. They have personalities but are highly receptive to what people emote towards them. So, if you view them as an Old Testament sort of God they'll behave that way. Likewise, if you tell them to kill someone who is evil but then tell them killing is wrong they become confused. Their power grows stronger as a persons belief in them grows stronger. But the chaos of differing religious views and differing ideas of right and wrong wreak havoc. The aliens aren't necessarily evil or even bad but in the end, after the Patriarch promises to smite the Communists and end the Vietnam war the Doctor knows they must be stopped because if not they'd be unstoppable. The Doctor institutes a plan to spread dissent and disbelief amongst the "Gods" followers and the less they're believed the weaker they become. The bomb dropped and because word had spread that the "Gods" couldn't survive the explosion, they didn't.
> 
> In the end, the public gradually came to believe it was an elaborate hoax
> 
> There's obviously more to the story. This is a fully fleshed out novel that deals with Steven's guilt, that introduces us to Dodo and gives us a Doctor fresh off his loss of his granddaughter Susan/Arkytior. I chose it because I needed the Doctor in New York if only briefly.
> 
> We now return to your regularly scheduled journal entries.
> 
> -Maribor
> 
> 5/27/16


	242. April 20, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of April 1965

Dear Doctor,

Perhaps you're wondering why I haven't written.

Then again maybe you're not. Maybe you know. We were terribly busy of course, initially. Trying to determine who and what the God's were. Trying to stay close but keep our distance. Trying to hear what people were saying about them and put two and two together. But of course, that wasn't all.

We were trying to find you.

It became quite clear early on that you were there. That girl, Dorothea mentioned you, Kathy did as well and we started to hear talk about a strange old man who waltzed right in and tried to take control of everything.

But we always missed you. You had always _just_ left. Someone had _just_ seen you dash away.

Rory and I remember those days. We remember that we were always the ones dashing off with you. Or the ones left to explain, patiently and I suppose a touch condescendingly that, Yes, the Doctor will be back. Yes, he has things well in hand. Yes, no need to worry. Yes, if he requires you he'll send for you.

It's hard being on the other side of that door that separates you and your friends from everyone else. It hurts.

But there wasn't time to feel hurt. Not really. There was a crisis to avert and though we were never able to get our marching orders from you, between the two of us and what we figured out and what we heard you were doing, we managed. We steered people away from that portal. We leaked as much to the press as we could through all the channels we could. And when the time came we sowed the seeds of discontent and disbelief among the followers until all that remained were the faithless and scorched earth in Sheep Park.

Rory and I were there. But you know that.

The park had been largely evacuated but we were there, just doing clean up recognisance for ourselves and for whatever we decided to share with Torchwood. This is, after all, our job, and we are very, very good at it.

We spotted Steven and Dodo first. Walking swiftly and speaking animatedly.

And then we saw it.

The TARDIS.

Doctor, Rory and I haven't seen the TARDIS in 25 years.

And there she was, just as beautiful as I remember her. Tall and solid and bluer than blue.

And then we saw him.

We saw you.

We didn't know what you looked like. Only Melody knows all your faces like that. But we knew.

You were older than I'd ever seen you which is funny because you were also younger than I'd ever seen you. White hair, a stern look. No tweed in sight, but instead very Victorian dress. A black frock coat and waist coat, a black tie, black trousers and a wing-collared shirt. Not much of a flair for fashion in your youth, eh?

Steven entered the TARDIS. Dodo dawdled outside waiting for you. You approached and...I don't know which one of us started to shout first. Maybe me.

Maybe both of us.

The word DOCTOR! tore from my throat and I started running. Sprinting towards the TARDIS, towards you.

We were still some distance away but we were shouting and approaching as fast as we could.

We're not as young as we used to be.

You're not as young as you used to be.

I was screaming your name and so was Rory. Dodo turned to look at us and gestured in our direction.

And that was when our eyes met. You looked at me. You looked directly at me and you saw me. I saw your face go from curiosity to surprise, to interest...to fear.

You looked from me to Rory and back to me and again and nearly pushed Dodo inside. You stepped one foot inside yourself before peering at us for the last time.

I was just close enough to see the horror on your face. I _know_ you didn't recognize us for who were. How could you? But you knew _what_ we were. You knew we were your future and we were hurtling towards you at breakneck speed and you were terrified. Terrified by our persistence, our need, our desperation. You stepped inside and shut the door just as we arrived.

I started banging. I don't know why but Rory had the same inclination because he started doing the same.

I don't know what we wanted. I don't know. I know you weren't our Doctor then. You were some old-looking young bloke, off on a larking adventure, romping about the universe, probably even popping back to Gallifrey when the mood suited you. You weren't our Doctor and still I just wanted to see you, touch your hand, steal what would have likely been the most awkward hug ever.

While Rory was banging I tried the handle and I felt the door give a bit. And I heard you, I heard your surprised gasp from the other side just before you secured the lock.

She, the TARDIS was going to let us in. Today is yesterday is tomorrow for her. She exists across all of space and time, she knew us, she recognized us as family and friends and she was going to let us in. But you stopped her.

We kept calling out to you for what felt like ages and while the ship stood there silent and still I thought maybe, just maybe you might come out. Maybe you'd ask what these two peculiar and noisy people wanted.

But then I heard the engines flare up and the wind started to lift stray strands of my hair.

Rory grabbed me around the waist yanking me to him shouting, Get back!

As I'd done so many times before I watched you phase and shift out of sight.

After all these years it still hurts. Somehow it was easier dealing with the truth of never seeing you again when we never had to see you. But this felt uniquely cruel. It's not your fault. I'm not blaming you. It's just one of those things. The TARDIS was our home for a very long time. It aches to have it so close.

What a ridiculous problem. What ridiculous people we are, yeah?

Rory and I walked a bit in the park before catching a cab home. We don't visit Central Park often. It's lovely but full of more than its fair share of bad memories for us. I suppose this is another.

I wish I knew what you were thinking when you saw us. I wish I knew how you felt. I wish that maybe I could have explained to him, to you...

I know, I know paradoxes and all that. We probably shouldn't have even run up to you like that but it's done now.

It's silly. Our life is here. Firmly rooted here. We've accepted that and not just accepted but _embraced_.

So why does this hurt so much? Why do I feel like I did when I was seven, when I was nineteen, when I was twenty-two, when I was thirty-four? Why do I feel like that little girl sitting on a suitcase in my garden waiting for you to come back?

Bugger this. I'm rambling and it's not helping.

I'm going to take a few days off from writing, Doctor.

No hard feelings. I just need a break.

Love across the stars,

Love, The Girl Who Thought She Was Done Waiting

...and realized she may have been wrong.


	243. The Journal Of Impossible Things

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

 _ **Curator's Note:** The following pages appear to have been photocopied and placed carefully into Dr. William's journal _un-dated _. The pages are from Ms. Verity Newmans fantasy novel purported to be based on the journal entries of her great grandmother and the musings of the Doctor._

_*Photocopying was done by a machine that produced paper copies of documents and visual images quickly and cheaply. Though having a personal version of this technology was wholly incongruous to 1965, we speculate that some of the equipment brought by their daughter, Melody Pond would have had this function._

_Scribbled at the top of this page Doctor Williams has written; "Can't recall if I mentioned it, mate, but back when I was scouring the internet for anything and everything about you I came across this book. I downloaded it and forgot about it. Only recently did I decide to pick it up again."_

* * *

_Journal of Impossible Things_

When at all possible I let the lovely words of my great grandmother speak for themselves. She wrote about her life and her love of the mysterious stranger, John Smith with such, careful, purposeful and beautiful language that she doesn't need my help. I only wanted to weave her story and Mr. Smith's together the way I felt it deserved. What follows are her journal entries interspersed with his own which he left to her for safe keeping. With the exception of a few historical footnotes, citations, and letters of explanation I have left her words untouched. I hope you find as much joy in reading this as I did.

-Verity Newman 2006

**Update for 2010 reissue**

While I know my publishers are railing against this idea as surely this additional information will push this book from historical biography to fantasy, I don't believe I care.

For you see I saw him. He came to my book signing at a little shop in London. Tall and strong and handsome and perfectly fitting the description that my great grandmother left.

He came and I signed his book and I knew it was him. If I had harbored even the slightest of doubts they were vanquished in that moment.

He looked so sad, this Doctor. So terribly sad and I was reminded of my great grandmother's words.

"He stood there as someone caught between both man and boy wholly discomforted by the way that each tugged at him. His sadness was so heavy, so pressing that it filled the room as though it were a presence all his own. As though his shadow bore a terrible, sinking weight. I saw before me a man who appeared perpetually at odds with himself and everything around him. His life was ill-fitting."

He asked me, "Was she happy in the end?" I answered, that yes, yes she truly was. And he smiled a smile so terribly broken...

I replied quickly because I felt this visit would be brief. That in a flash he'd be gone.

"Were you?"

But he just kept smiling and it grew sadder and darker with each passing second.

And then he walked away.

He never answered my question.

He never answered my question...

* * *

**Introduction**

Are diaries still diaries so long after the fact? Or are they grim post mortems colored by time, fanciful posey ready to pink up even as the corpse of reality pales and decays? I don't know. I only know upon compulsion and compunction I must write these things down. As they happened? Perhaps not. The mind is not so wedded to details and fact. It does so like to abridge, to smooth rough-hewn edges and I am of such a mind to give it that liberty. While this may not be a faithful retelling it is the truth such as my heart recalls it.

And recall it, it shall.

-Joan Constance Redfern

* * *

 _"i am a teacher who dreams he is a lord._  
_there is nothing sillier than that._  
_the eccentric oldest son who was meant to inherit, but no longer has any claim on his past."_

**Chapter One**

I have yet to find Gallifrey on a map.

It exists neither in Ireland nor anywhere else in the realm of his Majesty, King George V. That, of course, makes a great deal more sense now than it did when John first told me.

When he first arrived I thought he was far too skinny. I knew that Mr. Marshall has vacated his post and Headmaster Rocastle was in search of a new history teacher. By chance, I happened to be passing by his office as he was arranging his belongings and watched him quite carelessly knock over a stack of texts some ten books high.

He was always knocking things over or at least seemed on the verge of doing so. He had, what I would call, a clumsy grace. But a grace all the same.

I find the young ladies of these days to be quite forward. I am sixty-five years of age and often quite scandalized by how the women of 1943 seem to throw themselves at the young men. Their hems are too short, their makeup too bright and their voices too loud.

And I am a hypocrite.

Because I do so envy them. Their choices, their freedoms, their future. And because I was no less shameless with John.

I cannot say that I pursued him. Though I daresay that if I had he'd have hardly noticed. For two months against all my nature and better judgement, against everything I had ever believed about widowhood I was blatantly flirtatious with him. At least that is how I recall it. He was polite. He was kind. He smiled that unabashed grin of his. But I was never sure if any of it was were connecting. His head was always in the clouds and only later did I come to understand why.

Finally, after two months of subtlety, I decided that brazenness was the only correct course of action. Asking him to ask me to the dance, was, up until that point one of the bravest things I had ever done.

He managed to avoid answering me by falling backwards down the stairs.

There was something about John that was always so displaced. So jumbled and out of sorts. I found it charming. I found it vulnerable. And I found myself wanting to protect him as I did the schoolboys under my charge. There were only two times when I found John didn't stammer or stumble or fluster about; when he teaching and when he was speaking about those dreams.

Part of starting this journal is coming to terms with those dreams. I reviled them for years and I hated this journal he left me. This small book filled with all the reasons that John had to die so this Doctor could live.

I hated the Doctor to my very marrow. He was dark in all the ways that John was light. He took John from me, from us all...from _me_. He cannibalized him like a brutal savage and I wanted to rip even the memory of him from my mind as he had ripped John from my life.

Years passed, I remarried and as I traveled from Farringham to London where we eventually settled the journal came with me. His journal of impossible things. I picked it up again so many, many years later. The pages had yellowed and the leather had cracked but it was all still there.

I set about to read it, properly, to plow my way through the dreadful penmanship and the oft times confusing and frightening sketches and see what my heart could salvage.

What I found was remarkable. Page after page was leading me to a certain conclusion. John and the Doctor were one. The person that I loved was not a farcical mask the true man had put on for clever and petty deception. John Smith sprung from the deeper well that lay within the Doctor. The bravery, the whimsy, the wonder, the fear, the sadness, the interminable hurt. In these pages, the Doctor and John intertwined.

What I found was forgiveness. And not just forgiveness but a sympathy, a pity for my John and for the Doctor.

John was a man caught between a glamour and a reality. The Doctor was a man caught between two worlds and never really belonging to either.

I'll never know what became of him. What I do know is that wistful sadness I saw in John's eyes was magnified tenfold when I looked at this Doctor.

Wherever he is I do hope he is safe.

I write these words down now only to remind myself of these two men, to recall what I believe was perhaps the truest love I ever felt and to keep their flame alive. While it may flicker and dim in the cobwebbed wits of my mind, let it burn brightly on this page.

I believe I'll continue a bit more tomorrow.


	244. May 7, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Correspondence between Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams and** **Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of May

Hello, Melody!

Your Dad and I had a question. Since your birthday is coming up quite soon we were wondering if maybe we could have some time with you? That is if you're not too busy saving the universe! It's been a bit of a rough year and it seems like ages since the family has been together. Can you pop round for an extended visit? We're all a bit greedy to get a day with you so I figured I'd aim big. Say a week? Or will you have to haggle with your old mum?

Write back soon!

Love,

Mum and Dad

* * *

Dear Mum and Dad,

I'd love to see you. Your timing couldn't be better. I've actually got a bit of a break between expeditions and I'd love to come round. A week sounds amazing. You know, it's so difficult to keep track of my birthday. I hardly ever celebrate it. You and Dad are nearly the only ones who remind me. So tell me, just how old do you think I am?

* * *

Dear Melody,

Yay! We can't wait to see you! All of us are looking so forward to it. As for your age, by our admittedly linear calculations you're going to turn 38 years old. How old are you really?

* * *

Dear Mum,

It's hard to tell honestly. Nearly impossible to keep count but I _think_ I'm closing in on 200. Are you shocked?

* * *

Dear Melody,

200? My little girl is 200? I should have known I suppose. 200...

* * *

Dear Mum,

I know what you're thinking. You don't want to ask but you're thinking; how long am I going to live. Now that is a question that's a bit up in the air. I don't know. The Doctor's very first time around he lived to be about 450. So, I suppose either way you slice it, 38 or 200, I'm just about middle-aged, aren't I?

You've gotten me all excited about my birthday! I know just where I'm going to take you.

* * *

You're going to take me? It's your birthday, shouldn't we do what you want?

* * *

But this is what I want! And I know just the place! You're going to love it. It's just lunch and show, mind you.

* * *

Lunch and show. I know you. Nothing is ever just lunch and a show. I'm not taking you away from the Doctor am I.

* * *

Bugger the Doctor. I'm entitled to come and go as I please. He certainly does.

* * *

Melody, is something wrong? Did something happen? Vickie mentioned you were a bit...detached when she asked about him. You know, I don't expect him to be the center of your life. He shouldn't be. I already know he isn't. You're your own woman. Your own hero. You always have been. Don't let him try to guilt you into thinking differently. I remember the first day I met you...well the first day I met River he said "I'm nobody's taxi service! I'm not gonna be there to catch you every time you feel like jumping out of a spaceship." And I just knew, I knew it was bullshit. I knew he was likely conveniently forgetting all the times you'd shown up to pull his bollocks out of the fire. He's far too careless and dramatic to not have been the damsel in distress on multiple occasions. If you just want to talk, like Mum and daughter or even like Mels and Amy, I'm here. No judgment. He may be my best mate but you're my little girl and I'm always happy to take the piss out of him. Melody...are you there? You haven't replied in awhile?

* * *

Yes, sorry, Mum. You just managed to say exactly what I needed to hear. How do you always do that?

* * *

I'm your mum. It's kind of in the job description.

* * *

Damsel. I like that.

* * *

It's true! He might as well be wearing a hennin! Alright, so you're coming. Don't bring anything. Just yourself! Say the 23rd?

* * *

Ok, Mum, we'll talk then. Love you.

* * *

Love you too, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A hennin is that really tall cone-shaped princess hat. You know what I mean.


	245. May 12, 1965

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Anthony Brian Williams to Professor River Song/Melody Pond**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper: London UK, Luna University**

**12th of May 1965**

Melody?

Hi, everything ok?

Yeah.

You hardly ever write at this time of night.

I know. Melody, why did you give me this thing?

We already went over that, little brother. I'm leaving the university for a bit, changing flats and I'm going to be on the move for a few months possibly a few years. I won't be able to keep it with me.

Why not give it to the Doctor?

Because I need it on Earth. Same reason I can't take it with me. The transport on it is short range.

It feels bad, Melody.

Tony, if it's troubling you this much I can take it back. I can ask Jack to hold it.

No...I'll keep it.

Thank you. Will you be there for my birthday?

I don't know if I can stay for the whole week mom has planned. You know, with school and stuff. But yeah, I'll be there.

Good! Maybe we can do something special. Just the two of us.

I'd like that. Sorry for wigging out on you like that. I just...I woke up because I thought I heard something. A whisper or something.

You can wig out on me anytime.

Remember when I was little and you'd come and read to me every night?

Like it was yesterday.

I thought back then mom and dad might figure I was too much trouble and dump me first chance they got.

I remember.

I asked you then if they didn't want me would you take me? I asked you were going to stay with me.? You said-

I said, Ich bin Ihre ältere Schwester, und ich werde dich nie verlassen.

Yeah, you did. You're not going to leave now, are you?

Why do you ask that?

I don't know.

Tony, I lead a very dangerous life. I won't try and sugarcoat that. But I have no plans to die or go away or anything like that. I promise. Taking precautions is not the same as making preparations, understand?

Yeah, I do. I've taken a few precautions myself.

You have?

Even in your print you sound surprised.

No, not surprised just sad that you have to. What have you done?

Made a will. I mean I don't have much that Mom and Dad didn't buy for me but there's stuff I'd like you all to have if I don't come back from Vietnam.

Don't think like that.

Since when did not thinking about something make it any less likely to happen?

I could take you away.

No, Melody.

Set you on New New Earth. Let you explore a bit, live your life there for as long as you like, return you when it's all over.

Melody-

April 30th, 1975. That's when it ends. Ten years, Tony.

Enough. I'm not leaving. I'm not going. I can't run from this. That's not the man our father raised.

Very great men have run from things, Tony. Very great men.

Dad never ran. He's never run from anything a day in his life. This thing is like your will, isn't it? Some fucking space will.

Great minds and all that.

Yeah... Precaution not preparation?

Exactly. You should go back to bed now.

Yeah, you're right, I guess. Goodnight, Melody. See you soon.

Goodnight, Tony. I love you.

I love you too. 


	246. May 9, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

May 9th, 1965

Dear Dad,

I'm sitting here listening to _Dusty In Memphis_ , Miss Springfield's fifth studio album and thinking about Mum.

I remember being young and I asked you how and why you two got together. You said you met at a movie. I think I expected some sort of grand love story and I was a little disappointed. I asked you a couple years later, hoping you'd elaborate.

What movie, Dad?

Erm...it was a double feature. Wicker Man.

Wicker man and what?

You wouldn't know it. Pass the chicken.

So, today I looked up just what double feature was playing with Wicker Man back in 1973. As it turns out it was "Don't Look Now" which was apparently rated X! Not X as in how we may think of it. It mostly got because of that rather racy sex scene between Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland but compared to the cinema of our time it might not have gotten an eyebrow raise.

My point is that you conveniently left out the fact that 17-year-old you met 17-year-old Darcy Pills, later to be Darcy Williams at a naughty picture. I've seen photo's of you at that age, you could have passed for a 20-year-old. But Mum, she always looked young, didn't she? Always...

Except the problem is, I can't really remember her anymore. I was 12 when she died. I had 12 years of sense memories, how she looked, how she smelled, how she laughed. Somehow it's all gone now. Why would it be gone? I can remember all these things from 2000 years of travel and life but things before that, events but especially faces are foggier.

I can't remember what my mother looked like. And today of all days, Mother's Day, I find that especially distressing. I remember her getting sick. I remember endless doctor's appointments and hospital visits, I remember distant relatives coming by to check in on us. I remember not being able to go into your bedroom to see her. I remember when they delivered the hospital bed. I remember the nurse who came to stay. I remember sitting on the edge of her bed and singing "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me" because she said, Sing me, something, love.

I remember how I cried and couldn't finish the verse until she sang it a bit with me. As much as she could. I remember holding her hand as she squeezed mine back. I remember how quiet the house got after she died.

But I can't remember her face. And that kills me.

I don't have any pictures of her. I had always meant to ask you for some but I never found the right time, you know? Her memory kind of got...locked away. But I suppose perhaps you deserve it more than I do. I just wish I had something.

I'm relieved my children have made it into adulthood before they had to face losing us. Of course, they're still babies to me but I know if something happened to us they'd be alright.

Why can't I remember her face? Why does it bother me so?

I'm reading the closest thing we may ever get to an autobiography of the Doctor.

He's lamenting one of his friends...or perhaps more than a friend and the fact that he can't recall her, not in detail at least. He talks about trying to draw a perfect rose/Rose. He remembers her face but can't recall who she is to him. I can recall mum, who she was to me, but not her face.

Amy tells me that I'm angry with you.

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm frustrated by how I became baggage and an afterthought to you. That is if you thought about me at all. Do you have any idea how lonely a little boy gets when his mother dies? When suddenly he goes from two parents to one? Do you have any idea what it's like to just watch the only person you have left in your life become this transparent specter? Because that's what you were, Dad. You were gone. You had your garden and your memories and you didn't need me. You didn't need me at all.

Perhaps I'm really just angry with myself for not being able to protect my own son better. Maybe I'm thinking about all the times I just left him and his sisters to run off and defend the planet. I could have taken away yet another parent from him. Amy and I both could have made them orphans again. We are selfish people, Dad. Just as selfish as you or the Doctor. I am disgusted with myself. And Amy is right. I am angry with you.

I never got to just have it out with you, Dad. Just a real knock down drag out man to man hashing out. And I never will.

I'm torn between that boy that I was and the man that I am now. The man who crumpled when Amy crumpled. The man who was prepared to follow her down into the darkness during those first few rough and terrible years here. The man who is so lost without her that he becomes useless to anyone else.

The only thing that kept me going for nearly two thousand years were five words from the Doctor.

Rory! Listen, she's not dead.

Five words. Without which I would have said the universe be damned.

When my daughter stood before the Doctor with the whole of existence crumbling around her she answered a question that he posed.

River, you and I, we know what this means. We are ground zero of an explosion that will engulf all reality. Billions on billions will suffer and die.

I'll suffer if I have to kill you.

More than every living thing in the universe?!

Dad, that's what he asked her. More than every living thing in the universe. To which she answered;

Yes.

I know exactly how she felt.

Which I suppose means I have to understand how you felt. To have Mum ripped away from you like that.

Which is why ultimately I have to forgive you even if I can't forgive myself for being a dismal parent. Not saying you were dismal just...

I should send him away. I should send them both away. I should bundle them up like kittens in a sack and send my two children away with my oldest living child. They can come back in 75. They can come back in 80. If I was any sort of man I would. If I wasn't so damn weak I would.

Maybe I will. Maybe I'll get them both home for Melody's birthday and do what amounts to betrayal. Betrayal for the greater good. I'd become quite adept at making hard decisions for the greater good not all that long ago.

This is a decision you can't help me with, Dad.

I need to talk to Amy.

Sorry for getting so cross.

I love you.

Love,

Rory

_Filius est pars patris_


	247. May 19th, 1910

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLEMMING: You're the woman he loves.  
> RIVER: No, I'm not.  
> FLEMMING: She's lying.  
> RIVER: The Doctor does not and has never loved me.
> 
> Author's Note: Remember the anger River shows us in The Husbands Of River Song? Remember how she implies (before she knows he's at her side) this isn't the first time the Doctor hasn't been there to help, or save her. This isn't even close to the first time he's let her down. Remember that resigned and frustrated fury. Think about where that came from.

 

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

19th of May 1910

_Doctor...this is **not** for your eyes and none of your affair. Move on._

I haven't had much time at all to write since Melody arrived. It's all been so delightful, so much fun and I haven't felt this relaxed and free in a long time. The entire house is just absent of tension as all five of us decided to shut out the rest of the world. It's not to say we haven't left. We have, in fact we've been out almost every day exploring Manhattan. Melody took both of her siblings on special vortex manipulator powered trips away, God only knows where. But we ended every day having dinner together like the family I always dreamed of having. If this could be life, right here and now, forever, I'd never ask for anything else. Not even a chance to see the Doctor again.

Melody had decided that she wanted her birthday to be more about giving than receiving. She'd planned a trip for each of us and was steadily giving out presents as well. When it was my turn for an adventure, just she and I she handed me a gift wrapped box.

Open it!

Inside I found a lovely navy blue dress from an era that escaped me.

The description referred to it as a dressy frock of good quality all silk charmeuse ingeniously contrived. Melody said proudly.

I love it, it's beautiful. But what's the occasion?

Melody shrugged.

Just dinner and a show.

Dinner and a show was, of course, my daughter drastically underselling things. Dinner happened to be at the Algonquin with the entire Roundtable, Miss Dorothy Parker presiding. It was amazing and exciting and followed by an evening watching their stage review _No Sirree!_ That was in 1922. Then she took me back for a nighttime picnic to 1910 to watch Halley's Comet. We spread a blanket out on a hilltop far away from city lights, opened a bottle of wine, laid back and looked up.

We don't get this sort of view in Manhattan. I said. I remember it looking a bit like this in Leadworth though. I miss it.

Which do you prefer, Mum, being among them or beneath them?

Depends on the day, the hour I suppose. Most of the time I'm happy right where I am.

Can I ask you something? She said quickly.

Of course. I replied propping up on an elbow to look at her. You can ask me anything.

If you thought I'd made a mistake, a big one, you'd tell me, right?

That's kind of part of my job description. It always has been, even when I was just Amy and not Mum. So, yes, on both fronts, you can always count on me to tell you the truth.

She sighed. It's my birthday and I've been thinking about things. Lot's of things. Choices I made. Promises I've broken to other people and myself. I haven't been completely honest with you.

Ok...what about?

It's not that I think of you as... _provincial_...

I never said you did. I smiled.

The Doctor and I never had a traditional relationship. Or, rather it was never closed. We've never been monogamous. Though I suppose you knew that.

Yes...but...um...and please, there's absolutely no judgment here just curiosity... _we_? I asked.

We. She confirmed.

Alright. I said as I started to digest the information. But moments later the truth is, she was right, I did already know. I couldn't honestly say I was surprised.

Shocked? She asked tentatively.

Not at all. Not disappointed either if that's what's knocking about in your head.

She looked relieved and I hated that there was even a hint of that inside her, worrying about disappointing me or Rory.

Having second thoughts? I continued. Wanting to close the door on that?

Oh, no, it's not that at all. It's just...alright, time for what may be another bombshell. She began as she refilled my glass of wine. I've been married before _and_ concurrently with the Doctor. One husband, two wives. Couldn't make any of them work. Couldn't sit still. Couldn't manage it. Couldn't just be who I really am in front of them.

Why not? I said moving close to her. She was still staring straight up at the night sky and I could see the stars reflecting back onto her eyes.

No surprise then about having wives and another husband? She asked but I waved my hand. It was incidental.

That hardly matters. I may, in fact, be married to Henry the 8th. Trifles. What's more important is why you felt you couldn't be yourself around them.

Because I'm still trying to figure out who that is. And what I have figured out I'm not sure they'd like. I love them. I do truly love them and either they propose to me or I to them and we marry...and I run. Not all at once, not all together but by degrees I get further and further away until the divorce message catches up with me at one space station or another. It's abysmal behavior. I'm always running and they're always chasing after me until one day they're not. And though there's this huge part of me that misses them, that aches with the knowledge we'll never be together again but another part of me applauds. Good on you, well done, you _should_ leave.

Melody- I started to say but she cut me off.

And then there's me. Always chasing after him. Oh, not directly. I have my own life, I always have and always will. But he's always there, on the periphery, he's a factor, an unaccounted for X in the equation, a question mark, a consideration. There are the times, too many times, when I call him and he doesn't show. The times where I expect him and he doesn't appear. The times where I need him and he isn't there. The Battle of Rebel Point. The 100 Year Storm on Antioch. ...when I lost the baby.

I had already been sitting up, holding her hand in mine while she spoke and at this point my eyes widened.

You were-

But she cut me off again with a wave of her hand. Her features were a flurry of emotion and I watched her try and hold back what I imagined was a tide of tears.

I can't... She said simply. Not yet. She sighed and brushed away a few tears that despite her fight against them had escaped. I love him.

I know you do. I replied though I was fuming at the things she was telling me.

But I don't know that I can _actively_ love him anymore. What's more I don't know that I want to.

You're thinking of leaving him.

Another failure on my part.

I thought then about words I had written in my journal so long ago. Chastising myself for my own failures. How had she wound up so much like me in so many ways? On the surface, this seemed out of the blue. But when I gave it even the slightest bit of thought I realized there had been cracks for ages and I had seen them. I'd seen their rows and fights. I'd seen her return home to Rory and I tight-lipped and with clenched jaw when we asked about it. I'd heard the strain in her voice when she did speak about him. And I'd noticed how he was becoming less and less a part of the stories she told of her life in recent years until he was hardly a character at all. Had I known this was coming? Had I just avoided thinking about it So it would seem. I'd tried to bring it up wth her and never really bothered to broach it with him. I hated myself for that at this moment. Then again, I didn't really know when or how everything I was writing was reaching him. Maybe...when he got Rory's journals and mine they were already long parted.

I don't have as many pages left as I'd like, in my diary, I mean. She said. Do I want to spare time more than I already have on him? Do I want to give him the days I have left?

Maybe it's a magical journal. Surely when you get to the end more pages will be added. I said hopefully. This had never crossed my mind. Not once. The idea that her journal might be a sort of hourglass, each page another grain of sand marching towards...marching towards what I couldn't bear to think about much less put down on this paper before me.

No, I'm afraid it's only a regular book. As ordinary as they come. She swallowed hard before going on and I realized it was the first time she'd expressed any of this aloud. I'd still be around of course, show up for adventures. Nick the TARDIS when I need it. But...no more flying off at a moment's notice when he called. It just all hurts too much. To be kept away like that.

She drew in a shuddering breath and extended her hand to point above us. And there it was Halley's comet blazing mightily above. When I was little stories about it made it seem so alive. Like some sort of space beast that traveled about the cosmos and sometimes, just sometimes it breezed past us roaring with celestial fury and power. But now, as I stared up at it, still with wonder it seemed something else. A sad and impossible collection of space debris. The very definition of dead, trapped in an endless orbit it couldn't control because it wasn't an "it" at all. It was just a thing, a mindless hopeless thing. Just ice and dust. No life. No magic at all. I turned away from it and back to my daughter. She was teary but smiling up as she watched the body slowly track across the sky.

He took me to a planet once. She began. It was called Solanaceae, a massive gas giant, with this incredible thunderstorm that was raging at its pole. It was thousands of miles wide, you could see these enormous slashes of lightning just below the clouds. That storm had been raging for hundreds upon hundreds of years, like Saturns red spot but so much bigger.

We stood there in the doorway of the TARDIS just watching this body churn and live and breathe. There was a moon off to its side, a steady but bruised looking thing. He told me, _That's Ibis. The people of this galaxy named the celestial bodies after their gods as people are wont to do. Solanaceae was a great and mighty king who fought and won many a battle. But it took it's toll on him and he slowly went mad. There used to be other smaller moons that revolved around this planet. In reality, they were pulled apart by gravitational forces. But in their mythology, they were mistresses or courtesans of Solanaceae who either ran away in fear or were killed by him, as he and they were sucked into his madness. The only one left was his queen, Ibis. It's said she keeps things in balance for the galaxy. She can't stop the storm but she quiets it as best she can. She keeps order but she is, of course, failing too. Her orbit is degrading and she's losing her grip. Soon she'll fall as the others did. But for now, there they are, King and Queen caught in a dance that can only end one way._

He took me for ice cream after that. To him it was just another exciting, breathtaking thing to show me. But I saw us. He and I and the eventuality of succumbing to his madness and his storm.

The ibis is the last to leave. I said softly.

What? She asked.

Legend has it that when there's a storm, a hurricane, this bird called an ibis is the last to leave. Melody, he's in your head. Kovarian put him there. _Can_ you leave? Is it possible?

I think so. I think that danger is gone, the spell broken. We're together now only because we want to be. If that want ends then I don't think there's any reason I can't be free. He doesn't love me, Mum.

I looked at her in shock. Ready to protest. Melody released another pent up breath.

I think that's the first time I've ever said that out loud before. He doesn't love me. He's fond of me. He likes me. He enjoys having me around for a lark, a romp, a run, a snog, even a shag. But he doesn't love me. I know that now and look, I've said it aloud and the world hasn't come to an end. Here we still sit. The stars are in the heavens. Everything is as it was before.

Melody, are you sure. It's one thing to decide to leave a relationship. I wouldn't try to stop you I'd only encourage you think it through. If you assure me you have, then you have my blessing. But it's quite another to say...to say...it didn't matter, it wasn't real.

I never said it didn't matter. I'm only saying it was something I thought it wasn't. It was something I dreamt up in my head. A pleasant fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless. We all fall for it, for him, in our own way. No matter the face or the clothes. We see him laugh, we see him hurt, we see him angry, we see how he cares for us. We see everything about him and surrounding him and it all looks so human. We see him sweat and trip and fall and jump and run and love and cry. And we think he's human. And we squeeze him into our little tiny box of human understanding. But he's not human, Mum. And we are all in so much danger when we anthropomorphize him. He's bigger than that and the truth is he's bigger than I can handle. He's as much a celestial body as that. She said pointing to the comet. And you can't love that. And it doesn't want you to. And that's all ok. She concluded with a sad laugh before looking at me guiltily.

Are you angry with me? Oh and please don't tell Dad just yet.

I won't tell him if you don't want me to. But how on earth could I be angry? No one comes before you, Melody Pond. You're my daughter. My first loyalty is always to you, always. I trust your wisdom and I trust your heart and I trust that you've tried your very best against impossible odds to make this work. If you can't then you should leave. I'm just sorry. I am so sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am, dearest.

She sat up abruptly to hug me and I hugged her back fiercely.

So many tears on your birthday. I whispered into her hair. This isn't what I wanted for you.

On the contrary. This is precisely what I needed. I needed you to help me with this. I needed someone to give me permission to let go. She sniffled.

Well done, my Melody. You can let go now. I said softly.

She sobbed against me and I cried with her as a billion-year-old rock tore through the sky above our heads.

When you were very little, just a wee thing I promised you that you would never be alone. No matter how scared you are. No matter how far away from home you found yourself. You would never be alone. I meant it then and I mean it now. You will always have us. And so help me God I'll glue a ream of paper into that book of yours. I'll shove in so many pages I'll break the binding. But we won't lose you and you won't lose us and our love for you is not conditional on your love for him. Understand?

I understand, Mummy.

Good. You know...you look so young. I said softly.

I'm really not. She replied.

Still young enough to rush out there and chase happiness. Go find it. Wherever it is.

We held each other for a bit longer. Two women who've lived strange and backward, long and short lives holding one another in the dark. Each one, in their own way, having given birth to the other.

I held her and held her and I never wanted to let her go.

Happy birthday my darling little girl.


	248. May 29th 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**   
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

29th of May 1965

Dear Doctor,

Melody has always been better at giving than receiving. Even as Mels. I feel responsible for that. Like I should have taught her better. Worked on bringing down that wall a bit more. But, in any case, she delights in giving and subsequently gets a bit flustered when the tables are turned.

She wanted to get her presents over and done with so we chose her actual birthday, the 28th to have her party. We gave her her gifts and she blushed and fidgeted and said thank you. Though she seemed in a hurry to move on to cake and shift the focus off of her I knew she was grateful and happy. I can always tell.

Do you remember Mels 18th birthday? Amy suddenly asked and the two of them started giggling wildly while Vickie and Tony looked on. For my part I just shook my head feigning an annoyance I no longer felt.

Oh Lord, when I nicked that delivery van from the flower shop!? Melody asked as though she didn't already know.

Mum, you stole a van? Vickie asked incredulously.

Well, technically Mels stole it. Amy clarified. I was just aiding and abetting. So we had it but we didn't know what to do with it at that point.

Leadworth was so small! Melody added. All we could think to do was go and pick up Rory from the library.

This caused a fresh set of giggles to set upon them and Amy placed her wine glass on the table for fear of spilling it.

So Mels drove to the library and you were standing outside. She said pointing to me. And you said, Who's van is this? It looks familiar. And Mels said-

The Zuckers got it for me and birthday present. Melody filled in with Mels familiar innocent nonchalance.

Silly me, I believed you. I didn't know I was getting into a vehicle with two criminals. I protested.

And then...when you realized...it was stolen...the look on your face! Amy could barely finish the sentence for laughing.

I've never found this story even half as funny as the two of you. I said a small smile playing on my lips.

You made us take it back. Melody said. Old man Collins was never the wiser.

I'm still shocked that you did that, Amy. Mels, well nothing with her ever shocked me. But you?

Well, to be fair we'd had a bit of- She was in the middle of making a toking gesture when I cut her off with a gesture of my own. Mine was directed towards the kids and matched up with a "Do-you-really-want-to-say-this-now? glance. But it was too late.

You were high? Tony said incredulously.

Of course not, Tony. Melody said with a twinkle in her eye. Mother would never!

Alright, I think we scandalized our children enough. I said trying to change the subject.

But I haven't finished the story. Melody insisted. I still wanted to go out even after we'd returned the van but you, you kept insisting we go back home. Amy didn't put up much of a fight but I was frustrated. All in all, I thought it had been a pretty dull night. And we got back to your house and went to your kitchen and there on the table were three place settings all laid out. And you went to the refrigerator and you took out a cake and it said Happy Birthday, Mels. Love Amy & Rory.

She swallowed hard before continuing.

And I didn't know what to do because I didn't expect it. I never knew how to deal with your...kindness. And I got upset and I ran into your loo and I had a good cry and felt even more embarrassed. And when I came out you both let me pretend that nothing was wrong and I blew out the candles. We stayed in and watched movies. And then you brought out pizza later because you knew I wanted dessert first. You'd put all this together before you went to the library because that's just who you are. That's just who both of you are. And you gave me presents and we piled into your bed and after awhile we all fell asleep. And it was one of the best birthdays I have ever had.

Her voice was shaking and knowing she was on the brink of possibly running away now I retreated to the kitchen and got the cake from the fridge. Lighting the candles I returned singing Happy Birthday as everyone joined in.

Amy and I are always at our happiest when the house is full, Doctor, and today was no exception. After presents and cake and stories and laughter we took the phone off the hook, locked the door and just enjoyed one another's company. After dinner, we popped popcorn and melted an enormous amount of butter and caramel, drew the shades, pulled up Netflix and binge watched some new shows and old favorite movies.

Amy was the first to fall asleep, followed by Tony and then Melody. Only Vickie and I remained awake and after awhile she got up from her place on the floor and plopped beside me on the couch. I promptly slung an arm around her and tugged her against my shoulder.

Tell me something ridiculous, Dad.

Something ridiculous? Like what? I asked her. Truth be told we played this game a lot. We always had ever since she was little and we'd been honest with her about our past. There was a proper form to it all. She'd ask me to tell her something ridiculous. I'd say, Like what? And then she'd pick a topic.

I dunno. Something. Something about...food.

I thought for a moment before saying, Ok, got one.

I knew you would. She said and I could hear the smile in her voice.

I would give my eyeteeth for a glass of original Coca-Cola. The real stuff from around 1900, a little after they stopped marketing it as a nerve tonic. Fizzy and bitter and sugary and-

And full of cocaine! She exclaimed softly so as not to wake the family.

Well, yes, but you couldn't really taste it. I don't think... Anyway, it was magic, nothing quite tastes quite like it today.

The Doctor took us to us to a colonized moon that orbited Melissa Majora. She began. Their primary occupation was just harvesting the honey that the bees on Majora made and selling it throughout the galaxy. It's the best honey I've ever had. Nothing here even comes close.

I got another one. There used to be this giant cattle breed called aurochs. They went extinct in the 1600's but they'd been around since the Neolithic. Great brutish creatures, so much bigger than cows or bulls today. A mate of mine had a fête and served one that he'd hunted. I haven't had meat like that before or since. So pining for a nerve tonic and an extinct hamburger, was that ridiculous enough for you, jitterbug?

That's exactly what I've been missing.

I've had some of that honey too, by the way. I said before kissing her temple. The Doctor kept some in the cupboard in the TARDIS kitchen. It was delicious.

Mmmm. She said absentmindedly. Dad?

Yeah?

I miss you both, even when I'm here I miss you both. But not just you guys. Everything.

What do you miss?

Lot's of stuff. I miss the sound of my chair scraping on the kitchen floor when I push away from the table after breakfast. I miss the way you knock on my bedroom door to ask if I want to walk you to work. I miss reading mum's rough drafts and hearing her iPod playing all these songs from when I was little. Do you know how vexing it was to sing songs around my friends and have them look at me so strangely because they haven't heard them because they don't exist?

I laughed in reply.

Ugh, we tried to be so careful about stuff like that. We didn't realize what little sponges the two of you were.

Speaking of songs I miss the one the Doctor would sing to me sometimes at night on the TARDIS.

She started to hum something soft and unfamiliar to me and I just sat quietly and listened. From the floor I heard Tony stir.

It goes... He said groggily correcting her slightly on the notes with his own humming.

Yeah, you're right. She agreed and made the alteration.

Melody used to sing it to me. He said his voice coated in sleep before he went still again.

He used to tell me he sung it to his own children and that he hoped someday maybe he would again.

He told you that? I asked her in surprise.

I suspect he told me a lot of things he'd never tell you. She said with a wise smile. I just feel restless. I want everything to change right now and I also want everything to stay the same.

You know what it sounds like to me?

What?

It sounds like you feel 18.

This can't be normal. She said with a shake of her head.

That also sounds like 18. I think you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself to be this and know that. You don't have to. You are precisely where you need to be. If you want to stay in Britain, stay in Britain. If you want to come home come home. If you want to take some time off, do it. If not, don't. The point is you need to do what you feel is right.

You're being very reasonable. Who are you and what have you done with my dad?

I have had a lot of wine. I'll likely retract this in the morning. And would I rather you spent all your time studying away in a dormitory safe and sound far away from danger and protests and violence and noise and boys, yes, of course. What father doesn't want that? But at least now, for the time being, while I'm feeling rather positive about life, I can say I want you to do what you want and not what I want. And for the record I am always reasonable.

She beamed at me and I grinned in return.

So... _are_ there boys?

Daaaad.

It's a simple question.

She made a derisive noise.

They all talk bollocks. She said before lowering her voice to imitate them. It's all, You're a real switched on bird, I can tell.

Darling I've lived through a lot of slang, can you tell me what switched on means again?

Fashionable. But I'm not, it's just another rubbish line they use. I'm not a dolly bird and I'm into Teddy Boys or dandies or self-styled militants who scowl and look like bad news. I just wear what I want. I'm not trying to impress anybody. Maybe it was different for mum at my age. I know she modeled so she was probably always like hyper-fashionable but it's just not something I care about.

The modeling came later and I wouldn't say hyper-fashionable. She mostly just wore things really short. I said with a laugh. So, what do you do when the lads won't leave you be?

If they don't have stupid come on's and I fancy them I may go out on a date or two. If I don't fancy them I politely tell them I'm not interested. That's when they get cross. You think you're too good for us, eh? Come on, posh girls love a bit of the rough.

And what are their addresses so I can have them killed? I asked through teeth I was trying very hard not to grit.

It's fine, Dad. I can handle myself. If they don't listen I tell them if they don't get out of my way I'll kick seven shades of shit out of them. Jack taught me some moves and so did you and Tony. I can yank and twist with the best of them.

That's my girl! I exclaimed enthusiastically. Bloody hell you're a Pond and a Williams, alright.

The one bloke I'm interested in doesn't even notice me anyways.

And who is that?

Doesn't matter.

Fair enough.

Can I ask you something?

Of course.

Do you miss the TARDIS?

Yeah. Yes and no...and yes. Do you?

Yeah. I dream about it sometimes. I feel like sometimes I could live there.

It would be dangerous. I cautioned.

It's dangerous here. Anyway...you always told us not to run from our problems.

That's true. And trust me, problems are about the only thing that can keep up with the TARDIS. They find you. They always do. Your mum and I worried a long time ago that we were running. But your granddad, my dad of all people convinced us that we didn't have to stay on earth to have "real life". Real life was wherever we made it, so long as that was together.

You all were going to leave?

I think we were, yeah. But then my dad convinced us to stay. I think...we'd made a decision that Doctor life was going to be real life. We decided to stop worrying about putting time in boxes and freezing moments and partitioning things off.

That's probably good advice. Not easy to follow though.

No, it isn't.

I think I might go visit Uncle Edwin in Edinburgh. She said after a stretch of silence. He sounded lonely the last time we spoke.

I think that's a good idea.

It's awhile before I have to be back for classes anyways.

You're a good girl, you know that?

I haven't changed my mind, you know. She said in reply. Everything I told mum, all the things I'm fighting for and fighting against, I'm still doing it. I'm still going to do it. I'm still angry. I'm still going to protest and speak and sit-in. I'm still going to do what I can to change things right here and now. 1965 matters, no matter what happens in the future. Right now matters.

I know.

Do you still I'm a good girl.

I think you're a good girl and a better woman.

She smiled and put her head back down on my shoulder.

You know, I'm fully behind you trying to change the world. I said. But you don't have to save it.

She scoffed and after a moment it turned into a yawn.

Look who's talking.

Thanks for talking to me, by the way. I said.

What do you mean?

Your brother is avoiding me. He's made quite sure I've been unable to corner him.

He's stressed, Dad. It's not personal.

I know. I just want to help him.

He knows. But you can't. You're not calling the plays on this one anymore.

I looked down at my daughter and smiled. I wasn't so sure what she said was right but now wasn't the time to belabor the idea of who called the plays and who didn't.

Sleepy? I asked her.

Yeah, but I want to stay here for awhile.

Vickie closed her eyes and drifted off not long after.

I'm not tired, Doctor but I will put my writing down for a bit now. I just want to enjoy keeping watch over my family as they rest. As always it's a privilege and an honor.

Sleep well my friend.

Love,

Rory


	249. May 30th, 1965

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a summary but this chapter is really buggy. If I try to enter to make a line break it ends up duplicating the line. i haven't had this happen anywhere else on the site. Sorry about that!.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> "And you've just been to Manhattan. What planet is that?"
> 
> \- Flemming "The Husbands of River Song

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Dear Doctor,

Melody came up to me in the kitchen later the next day as I was washing up the dishes.

You ready, Dad?

My turn, is it? I asked grabbing a towel to dry my hands. Do I have a posh outfit you expect me to wear as well? I teased her.

No, what you've got on will do. Unless you want to go somewhere fancy! She said with a laugh.

No, dear, I know whatever you have planned will be wonderful. But let me just say...your mother and I know why you do this, you realize? I know. 

Why I do what? 

Why you try very, very hard to make sure that your birthday has as little to do with you as possible.

She avoided making eye contact with me.

What's wrong with wanting to be the child who shares their toys and their party and their birthday cake? I'm the center of attention eight days a week.

You feel guilty. You think that somewhere deep down, we believe, that we think of your birthday as a negative. That it was a day of pain and kidnapping and assault and battle and how could anything good ever come out of that? Except it did, because it gave us you. I wish...

You wish what, Dad? She asked softly, her voice thick.

Well, I wish many things. But most of all I wish you knew and believed how much we love you. It's more important to us now, now more than ever.

Why? Why now, what's happened? She asked in a rush. 

Nothing, not a thing. It's just we're both about to turn 60 in a few months. There are, undoubtedly, more day behind than ahead. It would be nice to have certain things settled.

No, no we are not going to discuss your death. You both are going to live a long, long time.

Do you know that for certain? I said holding her gaze until again she looked away.

In any case, it should be clear to you why we need you to believe this is a day of celebration. You don't owe us anything, Melody. We owe you.  

She sniffled and took a deep breath that was meant to calm her nerves. You spoil my plans. She said attempting to sound lighthearted. I do have a gift for you and I was going to take you to this amazing planet with- 

This is the last time you bring gifts on your birthday and the last time you take us on a trip. Understood? 

Understood.

If you absolutely insist, take me somewhere with a gloaming.

I know just the place. A wide grin spreading across her face.

Not long after that, we were seated on the sand of some planet I was sure I'd never been before, watching the slowest most graceful sunset I had ever seen.

Is this what you had in mind? She asked.

It's perfect.

I'm glad you think so. It's just us here. No one has lived on this planet for centuries. May I give you your gift now?

Yes, dear, if you like.

She started digging in her bag and pulled out a package so big I was surprised it could fit in there. It was wrapped quite nicely with a lovely little bow.

Shall I?

Go ahead.

I tore off the wrapping paper enthusiastically and beneath it was a box. I opened the box and inside was a small leather bound book. I started to open it but she put her hand over mine.

Dad, I hope you won't consider this intrusive or... I don't know, perhaps an invasion of privacy or memories. It was done with the best of intentions. Not everyone was there. That's the problem with resetting the universe. The butterfly effect and all that. But everyone I could find I did. And I made sure they were ok. Like you would have wanted.

Doctor, I didn't have even the faintest idea what she was talking about until I opened the book. And saw something I couldn't quite believe.

I stared. I stared for a good long while just at that first page. Then I closed the book and closed my eyes.

...how? I asked softly.

I went back to find them. I set things right. And all I asked for in return was a picture.

They couldn't have possibly known what you meant, what you were asking.

Some of them I just told them it was a magic box. One or two were so curious that I showed them. A few I just took without them knowing.

How did you find them? I asked incredulously.

You can ask me all the questions you want later. But for now, Daddy...just look. She said gently.

So I did, Doctor. I opened the book again and there on the first page was Caoimhe.

She thought I was the Goddess Coventina. I was waiting for her as she came out to draw water.

Coventina. The Goddess of wells and springs.

Mmmhmm. I did very little to dissuade her of this. I met with the man who owned her and after calling down a few thunderbolts as only a deity can do, I saw to it that she was set free. Along with all his other house slaves. I gave her money and sent her off into the world. But I asked if she'd let me work one last bit of magic.

And you took her picture. I stared at the glossy photo which shouldn't exist. It was the definition of an anachronism. A photo of a woman I had met but never met who had been dead for nearly two millennia. Her hair was as red as I remembered and she was smiling in the picture, big, bright and happy as the sun rose just over her shoulders.

Looks a bit like mum. She said softly.

A bit. I replied running my fingers over the photo. She was so smart and clever and alive. She wasn't broken. I met so many people who should have been, could have been broken. But they weren't. She wasn't. They were all so much stronger than I could ever be. I wiped at my eyes, my gaze fixed on Caoimhe, just as young and vibrant as I remembered.

Are there more? I asked tentatively.

I filled the whole book. She said quietly.

And so I turned, page after page. People I've mentioned to you and people I haven't. Those I wanted to share and those I've kept to myself. When we came to...Vitus, I let out a choked sob.

That's my brother. She said putting her hand on my shoulder. I nodded. It was all I could do.

I arranged for his adoption. He'd already gone to the orphanages but I found him and I took him to the happy and healthy home I'd already secured. All I asked is that I be allowed to return every few years to visit. That's him at four, then twelve, then sixteen, there he is on his wedding day the next year, then later with his children and grandchildren.

Was he happy? He looks happy. Happy and healthy and strong.

He was happy and by chance he happened to meet a certain young lady named Cordelia and they lived a long and joyous life together.

I miss him...so much. Every part of my soul aches to hold him again. If I think about it for too long it feels as though it will end me.

I felt the worry coming off my daughter, the pain, the desire to comfort me but the inability to do so. I tried to reassure her and gave her a true smile amidst all the tears. Vitus burned bright in my memory but I did worry about getting older and that finally, finally I might start to lose things. Things that could never be replaced. But here he was. My son. My little boy, given to me by my little girl. Only the knowledge that this book was mine to keep and treasure allowed me to turn the page.

More faces, Claire, Francis, Dominick, Gregor, Levi, Valentin, Lu, Stelios, Sherad, Deaglán, Eilidh, Abigail, Bartolomeo, Alvara, Syrine, Ismail and on and on and on. So many lost friends. But not forgotten. Never forgotten.

For the most part Melody kept quiet letting me speak or hold my tongue as I pleased. But as I was just about to turn another page she stopped me.

I didn't just use the stories you told us, Dad. I have a read out of your timeline, sort of a base code. I don't know this man but he seemed important. You stayed with him for decades.

And then there he was. My Konstantin. My Konstantin. I still don't know what to call him, after all these years. Everything seems so lacking so I just call him mine. As I was his.

I could feel Melody's eyes on me, watching me intently.

Who was he, Dad? She asked me. But I didn't answer.

He must have been so confused. Who did you say you were?

I did a bit of research. I claimed to be a servant sent from a wealthy but heretofore unknown relative of his. An uncle, a brother to his mother who even she thought had died. He was living under an assumed identity as a Merchant of the First Guild. He had heard about his sister's death and that the only remaining family member, a young man, had set off on his own. I had been sent to locate him and deliver not only what would have been his mother's share of their wealth but the family share as well. To preserve his identity he expressly demanded not to be contacted but bade me give this and tell the young man to live well.

That's quite a tale. Konstantin was born skeptical. Did he believe it?

It took a great deal of convincing and all my skills but eventually he couldn't deny I had the right names and dates and locations. He took it grudgingly and thanked me. When he looked inside the parcel and saw how much money was there his eyes got wide as saucers. He tried to offer me some for my trouble. I refused. He insisted. I took some and when he wasn't looking I reverse pickpocketed him and gave it back. I checked up on him a few years later. He was living happily and well in London no less sharing his space with a flatmate named Peter.

A flatmate. I said with a knowing smile. Good on him. To answer your question...he was someone I loved very much. Someone who changed my life and made it very, very happy. Someone I very much miss. But I'm glad he doesn't miss me. I'm glad none of them do. I'd be gruesomely selfish to want anything other. I hope that answer is enough.

It's enough. She said with a smile.

I flipped through the book, page after page after page of faces I could never forget, names, memories, and loss and loss and loss.

On the second to last page was a woman sitting in a swing holding a little boy. Framing that main image were other pictures of her and the child in varying activities. Mostly just the two of them but every now and then there was...

My God...that little boy is me. That's my dad and that's...my mum. I haven't any pictures of her. Couldn't recall her face at all but now here she is. It's my mum. I said looking at melody incredulously.

I may have snuck into Grandad's house and made a few quick copies while he was out. he'd want you to have them. I know that.

My throat was so tight and pinched I could barely form the words; Thank you. But I did my best.

On the very last page there was a girl in a series of photos that I didn't recognize. I wasn't accustomed to my memory failing me and I frowned as I tried to place her. It was made all the more vexing because she looked so bloody familiar. It was as though her name was floating just out of my reach. In some she was small, just a child, but over the course of them she grew up until the last one where I'd estimate she was in her late teens, perhaps early twenties. She was sitting down, on a bench outdoors from what I could make out. She was laughing and there was a book in her hand. She was in sharp focus but nearly everything in the background was pink, this soft, delicate pink. It was blurry and the color looked to be filling the sky and falling softly like strange snow.

I hate to ask but...who is this? I said turning that page of the book to face Melody. I remember we've gone to a few planets with a pink sky but I'm not recalling pink snow.

You'll figure it out eventually.

Deciding to take my daughter at her word I closed the book after a bit and held it tightly against me.

Melody... I began but then as I felt my throat closing up a bit I had to stop and start again. Melody, this is one of the most incredibly, lovely, loving things anyone has ever done for me. Ever. I never thought I'd see them again. Not ever. I can't even begin...

But I was unable to finish. And as that long, long sunset finally drew to it's close she wrapped her arms around me in that silence of twilight.

No, _I_ can't even begin. She whispered into my ear. I love you, Dad.

I love you, my Melody. Happy Birthday, baby.

The stars came out, one by one dotting the sky with constellations wholly unfamiliar to me.

That wasn't all we did that night, Doctor. I asked her if you ever took her dancing. She said not nearly enough so we found a restaurant with a huge dance floor. Whether we were actually in 18th century Austria or just a place styled after it I have no idea and didn't care. I just know I was lucky enough to share a few folk dances as well as a waltz or two with my daughter.

At the end of our escapade, we returned back to Manhattan. It was late and I quietly pulled her into the kitchen where we shared a slice of birthday cake. I then walked her to her bedroom and we said goodnight.

Melody, are you happy? I asked her in a whisper before letting her go.

Sometimes. I'm happy now. But I can't help but compare. And when I do, everything falls short.

That's only natural. I'm afraid for all it's dazzle and finery a life in Manhattan can't compare to one with the Doctor.

She looked at me and I noticed tears in her eyes.

Oh Dad...I meant I can't help but compare him to you. And to continue to notice how he falls endlessly short. Goodnight.

With that she kissed me on the cheek and disappeared into her bedroom.

I headed down the hall and crawled into bed next to Amy drifting off to sleep in happy exhaustion, still holding my gift.

It's the next day now, Melody's last day with us. I'd freeze this moment if I could, Doctor. This feeling. It's all perfect. Everything is so manageable and perfect. Every trouble and danger and worry feels so far away. And it's not just me. We can all feel it. Tony arrived so weighed down, Vickie was troubled, Melody was hesitant and I can hear them all now laughing in the kitchen with their mum.

I miss you, my friend. I hope you don't take to heart what Melody said. It was an emotional night. And my transcript of the events does not constitute an endorsement of her sentiment.

Alright, I'm done for now. I don't want to miss my family and the good time they're having.

I think I'll go join them.

Love you.

Love, Rory

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: I honestly never liked to think about this part and I don't think Rory does either. But all those people he helped and saved and loved...it never happened. That universe is undone and dead and he never met any of them. I think in some way that must be worse than the 2000 years. Knowing that the life he lead with them exists only in his memory.


	250. June 2nd, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of June, 1965

Dear Doctor,

I was alerted to what was happening by my son shouting.

Then a flurry of frantic, elevated conversation between Tony and Amy. Then she started screaming my name.

Then...

You know, I thought I could do this now.

But I can't...I fucking can't.

Goddamn you, Doctor.

Goddamn you.


	251. June 1st, 1965

******_Curator's Note:_ ** _The following letter was placed into the journal of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams._

_She appears to have hastily written three things. Two dates;_

_28th of May. This is the date we presume the package arrived_

_1st of June. The date this letter was entered in her journal._

_And one line:_

_"It was here. All the time. It was right here and we could have stopped it. We could have saved her."_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

May 24th, 1965

Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

I'm sorry for the delay in sending this to you. I did get your copy of " _A Mote Of Dust"_ right away and as I mentioned to you I find the idea of a trade absolutely acceptable. All the dates and info on this one add up. Not like this joke version you're after. As I said before this really wasn't necessary as the book wasn't my cup of tea to begin with and you could have had it outright. But, I thank you for the gesture in any case.

I won't make excuses as to why I neglected to send my copy back to you as promised. The truth is I simply forgot. I went on a vacation with my wife to Hawaii and am sending the book to you now immediately upon my return.

Again, please accept my apologies.

Yours,

Clive Barnaby


	252. May 31, 4987

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Professor River Song to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams. Dr. Rory Arthur Williams, Mr. Anthony Brian Williams, Miss Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via homing beacon: From The Library To Manhattan, Earth**

31st of May 4987

Dear Mum, Dad, Tony and Vickie,

I'm not sure when this will reach you. I've put a beacon on it but the best I can do is the 20th century. I'm afraid I haven't time to be more specific. Transmissions here are a bit weird due to the computer core and that's why I don't dare just send it as a letter without anything to protect it. This book will do.

I haven't much time for anything at all.

I imagine it will be quite the roundabout trip. I grabbed the first book I saw, "A Mote Of Dust" and wouldn't you know, it's about the Doctor. What a strange sense of humor the Universe has.

I hope the Lux's will forgive me for stealing library property. And if they don't, well I guess I'll just lose my borrowing privileges, won't I?

You'll most likely receive this after my confession dial opens. I'm sorry for the shock this must have caused.

It has been so many years since I've seen any of you and I miss you more than I can ever say. The last birthday I spent with you was decades ago to me. And it was the last I ever celebrated. It was the best I'd ever had and I knew nothing could surpass it. So I never tried.

I know what you want to read. That this was all some sort of mistake and that I'll be coming home soon.

But it wasn't and I won't.

In linear time you will never see me again. I don't say that to be harsh. I say it because I don't want you waiting for something that won't ever happen.

But it's alright for so many different reasons. Most of which I can't go into now. But I will say one of them is because I figured something out, something very important about those missing years of mine.

And it's alright because you'll hear from me again. There _are_ letters in your future, I promise you that. I just don't know when.

I can't explain.

But the Doctor can.

When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end. But however hard you try, you can't run forever. Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark, if he ever, for one moment, accepts it. Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day. Not today. Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all.

Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair, and the Doctor comes to call everybody lives.

 _Almost_ everybody. I'm saving who I can, including the Doctor, because it's what both of you, my parents, would do.

Mum, remember in 1943 I told you about that letter that you couldn't open from him until 1965? Well, it's time now.

I'm so sorry I have to go. There's still so much wiring to be done before the countdown.

I love you all. I love you all so very much.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for a happy life well lived. Thank you for dealing with the madness and the chaos of Mels Zucker and River Song. Thank you for loving Melody.

Vickie, Tony, thank you for being the best brother and sister anyone could ask for.

Mum, Dad, I hope I've made you proud.

I never imagined being part of a family so I never imagined how hard it would be to leave.

All of my love. All of it.

Your Melody


	253. June 2, 1965 (The Doctor)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Personal Correspondence From The Doctor to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams and Dr. Rory Arthur Williams**  
**Location: The TARDIS to Manhattan 20th Century Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Hello Ponds,

I wasn't sure whether to write this. But you deserve an explanation.

I'm still not sure _how_ to write this but I'm hoping that becomes clear as I go along. At the very least you deserve my best effort despite how poor the outcome may be.

For me, it has been 382 years since I said goodbye to you in a graveyard in New York.

That's 139430 days. But who's counting?

I've entrusted this letter to River and asked her to make sure that it remains unopened until 1965...at which point the inevitable will have occurred. Though she, of course, doesn't know it.

Many, many years ago, another lifetime ago, another face ago I received a message on my psychic paper. I didn't know the sender but they were asking for help.

_"The Library. Come as soon as you can. X"_

The kiss threw me a bit but I didn't think much of it.

I arrived and then she arrived. This firebrand of a woman who seemed to know me and everything about me but refused to say how or why. She vexed me. She upset me. She frightened me. We argued. She accused me of not being myself, of being less than some future version. She all but said I wasn't the real Doctor, her Doctor. I didn't know what that meant but it infuriated me. She infuriated me. And in between all the bickering and mistrust and misdirection we worked together to save as many lives as we could. From what, isn't important. Finally, when she had officially had enough of me and my petulance she took a drastic step. She whispered my name in my ear. I hadn't heard anyone speak my name in more years than I could count. And the way she whispered it, the way she articulated it hitting every syllable, every correct pitch, and tone as though she'd been saying it all her life...or all mine. It stopped me cold. I couldn't speak I could only stand there nodding like an idiot. To the best of my knowledge there was no one living, save me, who knew my name. The reasons, the rituals, the trust, the bonding...the love that would have needed to occur for me to reveal that to her. At that point, I couldn't even fathom it.

This was the moment. For me, it felt like perhaps everything was beginning when in actuality we had finally reached our nadir. And I didn't even know it.

The facts are so less important than the truth of what happened.

And what happened is what always happens. A decision had to be made and then a sacrifice. A sacrifice I was ready and willing to follow through with. But she made it for me. She gave her life so 4022 people could live. She gave her life for mine, again. Her last life.

You want to know why I couldn't tell you. For precisely the same reason I couldn't tell her. Because you cannot stop what has already happened. The first time I met River she died and nothing could change that.

Would it have been better to tell you? To have a silent countdown hanging over her head for you to see? Would it have been better for you to have spent all these years measuring each grain of sand as it drained away in the hourglass? I'm genuinely asking because I don't know. I did what I always do, I make the best decision I can make at the time.

I have done many things in my past and told many hard truths that broke hearts. But I had no idea how to tell you that your daughter was dead. No idea how to tell you that I failed you all before I even properly met you.

So I lied and I let you believe. I even thought...I thought there was a chance the two of you might live happily to old age and meet your end before her, never the wiser. That would have been the Universe being kind. But the Universe is rarely kind.

This was all my fault. All of it. Every terrible thing that has befallen you and I can't even make it up to you.

Amy, Rory, I am so sorry.

I'm a thief. An old, practiced, stealthy thief. I stole you away, Amy. I stole Rory away. And though I'm thoroughly ashamed of it I tried to steal you _from_ Rory. And then I greedily tried to take you both to bed and succeeded. No, never mind what you're thinking, I engineered that. That wasn't your idea, my manipulations stretch back over eons, you can't find the thread so you think you're the weaver. You're not.

How much of you did I create, Amy? I say that not with vanity but dismay. I molded you in your most formative years. I told you what to want from life, from the world, from a man, from a lover. I made sure that I was the center of your universe. I very nearly got you killed on multiple occasions, I almost lost you a man who is my superior in every way, I robbed you of the quiet joy of a normal life, and I lost your daughter...twice. And through it all you both, somehow, never lost your faith in me.

I never should have come back for you after the nightmare hotel. I should have bid you both goodbye and done the kind thing and left you to your lives. But I didn't because I am a coward and a cruel, small, greedy man. I am voracious and I consume.

I shouldn't be doing this now, under no circumstances should I be allowing this to happen. I was going to do my very best to leave you in the past, happy and healthy. I received your afterword and I knew it would be the last thing I ever read from you both. I treasured it. I kept it safe and I pulled it out whenever I just needed a reminder that there was happiness and light in the Universe.

But I made up my mind to leave what was buried, buried.

And then your first journal entry appeared and another and another and another and I was drawn back again as I always am by you both. Hopelessly captured and always waiting for the next page. I couldn't resist. I still can't.

But again this isn't about me nor is it just about apologizing for what happened to River.

I have other apologies.

I'm writing this to explain something that perhaps I should have explained a very long time ago. When I was young I visited New York and there with Dodo Chaplet and Steven Taylor, we did our best to thwart the gods of the Latter-Day Pantheon. Now, of course, I know you two were there as well, as always, helping to put things right.

When we got back into the TARDIS I saw these two people running towards it. A man and a woman. I didn't know who they were. I didn't recognize them but something about their intensity, their need to get to me, their desperation, terrified me. Dodo asked me if we should stop. She said "Doctor, they know you, they know your name." But I was afraid. So afraid and I ran. I shut the door in your face and I backed away.

When you tried the handle and it started to give way I rushed forward again and pushed it closed. Perhaps the only thing more knowledgeable than the time traveler is the time machine. She, the TARDIS knew you and in the many years since has lamented your absence. It's not just River she loves, you realize. In any case, you were my future, naked and true and so far beyond what I was willing to handle that I made her take us as far away from you as possible. How that must have felt from you end. How that must have wounded.

I know by the time you read this you'll have figured out that only one of your can leave Manhattan at a time.

You're victims of Brehmer's 4th Law of Causality. When you leapt from the Winter Quay you did so together. Rory's death alone would have broken the paradox but when the two of you jumped together you, in essence, created a bubble paradox. This couldn't have happened in any other place in any other time but New York is so damaged it allowed for anomalies even I couldn't predict. Amy, once you followed Rory back to the past you completed the circle.

Do I tell you this next part? I've gone back and forth about it for years.

Amy, I was selfish to beg you to stay like I did. But I've never pretended to be anything but a selfish old man. No...that's not true. I pretend to be other than that all the time.

But the truth is, there's a chance, I could have saved Rory. If you stayed. If you'd come back to the TARDIS with me we may have been able to get him out of New York and to some place else where I could land, somewhere safer. He saw his grave but that only meant a stone had to be erected, that's all. We could have sent a letter back, told him to book passage to Brazil or Cuba or India we could have had him drive to Pennsylvania or Chicago and maybe, just maybe, we could have gotten him.

But you wouldn't have stood for maybe and I don't blame you.

Amy, Rory...all these years one truth has haunted me. Something I suspect you've already figured out.

I could have saved one of you. I could have gone back, landed somewhere else or even sent a message to one of my former selves, I've done it before. Let you sync with them and then do a handoff. But just one. One of you is anchored to the other. You can leave separately but not together, never together. How could I choose? How could I ask you to choose?

Separately, but never together. Together or not at all. The paradox isn't the Winter Quay or Manhattan, it's not a time dilation caused by the TARDIS. It's the both of you. Both of you are the paradox or the the pair-adox, if you will. You are a living temporal distortion and I think you always have been. I think the disruption caused by the two of you is an anomaly that permeates time itself. The temporal mechanics of it are fairly simple as temporal mechanics tend to be. The TARDIS is time, pure time. While the spatial disruption you two created is anti-time, when time and anti-time collide they create at best a distortion at worst a rupture. The TARDIS, almost every time, absolutely refuses to go to Manhattan. She always has, no matter the century. But I never knew why. You two are living temporal anomalies and you bleed both forwards and backward through the ages.

I had thought perhaps it would be better if I faded from your lives. I wanted to visit you, time and time and time again but the TARDIS won't even attempt it.

I think about you all the time.

I don't celebrate Christmas anymore. Haven't got the heart for it. So, when you suggested these meetings in the past I jumped at the opportunity. I will always jump at the chance to see you both again. I try to stay normal, to stay linear but seeing the two of you weighs so happily and heavily on my hearts that it pains me. I'm not right for weeks after. But it's worth it.

But I won't do this. I won't talk about my pain, not now. I only mention it in passing to say how much you alleviate it. How you both gladden my heart even after all this time.

I doubt River had a chance to say goodbye to you, a proper or lasting goodbye. The Confession Dial can be a bit difficult to understand. It's meant for telepathic species, to capture the essence of who we are and all our last messages, hopes, wishes...apologies. The TARDIS made one just for River and I presented it to her some time ago. It's to be delivered to the person or people that are the most trusted. I knew it wouldn't come to me and nor should it have. I hope it gave you some comfort.

I didn't speak about my marriage very often. Not to you or Rory, not even to River...but I took it quite seriously. I realize I have, on more than one occasion, dismissed the idea of occurrences in parallel, alternate or dead universes. Actions, emotions there are heightened and born out of circumstances those of us in the Alpha universe can't imagine. But I wasn't from that Kovarian-world with it's backward running time. I was from this one and my actions were my own and as true then as they are now. I married your daughter because I wished it to be so, under better and different circumstances, mind you, but, here we are. I wished it then and I wished it now. I don't want there to ever be a question about that or a doubt. She and I are joined from now until eternity just are your house and my house are joined. Your history and mine. Your future and mine. I have no family left but you and I am grateful for you all every day.

I know...as she may have told you, I haven't been the most reliable husband but I promise I will improve. I do swear it. And yes, I do believe I will see her again. She's mentioned things to me over the years, things that haven't happened yet but that I assume are in our future.

I know it isn't fair that I still get her and you don't. But I will pass on your love to her every moment that I can.

I know why she was so angry with me on that last day we were all together. I know why I embarrassed her. I wanted to help her to take away her pain of her shattered wrist, I wanted to show her how much she meant to me and I ended up making her feel terribly small. I hope to have many years to make that up to her and I intend to.

I hope you don't see this as me flaunting my remaining time with her. That's not my intent at all. It's just to tell you I will care for her.

Both of you have shown infinite patience with my quirks, my nature, my failings. It hasn't gone unnoticed or unappreciated.

Over the years I've watched the two of you along with your family grow. I've waited with nervous anticipation for Rory's return from war. I have experienced the joy at the arrival of your children and the pain at the loss of Adora. I've been terrified by your dubious alliance with Torchwood and worried about your battles with the Thraske, the Tetrin, the Ahn, the Bat-kuul and so on and so on. Christmases. Birthdays. Book publishing's. Anniversary trips. Meeting Jack. Visits from River. I have enjoyed each and every letter you've both addressed to me and I have followed your life in a way, I'm ashamed to say, I never had the patience to do before.

I hope for more.

How I love those two words; "Dear Doctor,". And I love to read what comes next.

I am sorry for failing you.

I offer no admonishments for how you've lived your lives. No exhortations are forthcoming. Only pride, only respect, only awe.

I've lost people before. Many people, more than I care to think of. But I have been able to gather myself together and stride forward. I have made some steps to do that. I travel with someone new now as I know River told you. And still...the two of you are always there. I hear your voices in the corridors. I hear you whispering quietly in your room...I often stand just outside your room. I hear your footfalls. Your laughter. I hear you calling my name. It's just psychic residue of course. One of the benefits or burdens of traveling in a living, breathing ship. A phenomenon explained by brainwaves and physics and electromagnetic energy. But that's all just a posh way of saying the two of you haunt me.

In case you think I'm not aware, I realize I'm rambling. The reason being I'm afraid to end this letter. I don't write many letters. I fear their intimacy and permanence. Words on paper are immutable. I fear everything you wanted to convey to me through these journals. You're angry with me, furious, I imagine and I can practically feel it. It's a righteous fury and one that I deserve. I won't ask for your mercy. Perhaps this is unforgivable.

But because I fear it and I fear this may be the last time... please, please know that you are my family. No matter what occurs you always will be.

Each and every time I see River I will give her your love. I swear it.

I don't think I ever said it to you. Not really, not in a full incontrovertible, undeniable sentence. I think I tried to say it on that Christmas but I don't believe it made it past my lips. I have said it to those who would stand against me. I've told them that to threaten or injure the people I love is to invite their own death. But I don't think I've ever said it to you. Because I _don't_ say it. I've never spoken it, not in hundreds upon hundreds of years. It comes with a thousand pinpricks and vulnerabilities. It places a target on your heads and my hearts. But I'll say it now.

I love you, Amelia.

I love you, Rory.

And I am so, so sorry.

Love across the stars and back again, my Ponds.

Yours,

The Doctor


	254. June 4th, 1964

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

4th of June, 1965

Doctor,

You and I have some unfinished business to attend to and I want you to pay very close attention. Because after this you will never hear from me again.

First, I intend to recount for you what it was like for us to learn that my daughter was dead.

I was in our office. Rory was outside. Tony was in his bedroom. Vickie was already in Edinburgh.

Tony started shouting my name. I bolted up from my desk and ran to him. I hadn't heard such panic in my son's voice since he was a small boy.

What is it!? Are you alright? I asked him as I arrived in the doorway to his bedroom.

He pointed to something on his dresser. A round disk. It was covered with what I knew to be Gallifreyan and there was one, long triangular sliver missing. When I looked closer I noticed that it was moving. The top was turning clockwise and the bottom counter clockwise, like the workings of a watch.

That's not supposed to happen. It's never happened before. He last sentence punctuated by a ragged exhale.

Tony, what is it? I don't know that. Is it something the Doctor gave you?

No! You don't understand. It's Melody! Fuck! Goddamn it! FUCK! Dad!

Tony, tell me! I shouted at him.

It's her will, Mom. It's her will!

As you can imagine, Doctor, I didn't have the slightest idea what Tony meant but this slow, cold horror was creeping over me and I started to call Rory too.

He came in his hands covered in dirt. He'd been working in our garden.

What is it? He asked but I didn't know what to say. The look of pain on Tony's face rooted me to the spot.

Rory tried again. Son? Talk to me.

Tony opened his mouth to speak but at that instant so did the confession dial.

I don't have to describe it to for you. You already know what it is and what it does. It's not words, it's no actual sound at all, it's just this flood of emotions. A soft wave that ripples towards you. It's soft because it's full of memories and affection and love and farewell.

But despite all that it's still a wave and it still knocks you back.

And then there she was, in my head, in my heart. It's not telepathy and I wasn't hearing her with my ears. It wasn't audible but she was speaking just the same. Words of apology, words of regret, of time spent, time lost. Words that spanned two lifetimes and stretched back to when we were all children together. Words of gratitude, so much gratitude that we didn't deserve. So many levels, so many points and counterpoints all intertwined into one steady message of harmony, of melody. Of Melody. But all of it, Doctor, every word still with the same driving beat that said; I am gone.

I'm not sure how long it lasted. At this point I'm not sure what Rory heard or Tony. All I do know is my son was weeping openly, so was I. I looked to my left and Rory was simply standing still, his face, slack and pale.

I don't recall what I said. But I know he grabbed me and Tony fiercely, holding us close as we cried against him. I wanted it to be wrong. I wanted this to all be a mistake, some terrible error she would quickly correct any moment. But one look at Rory's face and I knew it was true.

Tony, however wouldn't believe it.

This isn't right! He said as he suddenly broke away from us. He rushed to his duffel bag and opened it, flipping through paper. Blank sheets of the paper Melody had given to us all hoping, believing there might be some word from her there. But of course there wasn't.

We have to check the mail! He shouted as he pushed past us and out of the room.

Son... Rory said but Tony was already gone. My husband walked me slowly into our living room where Tony was on his hands and knees sorting through all the post we'd neglected during Melody's visit. None of it had seemed very important at the time.

How I wish I'd bothered to check. This might have all been stopped.

He searched as I leaned heavily on Rory but there was nothing from her. No letters, no postcards. Nothing.

What's that? Rory asked as he pointed to a square, brown parcel Tony had dismissed. His voice sounded hoarse as if he hadn't used it in days.

Dunno. It's addressed to Mom.

Tony walked over and handed it to me and I stared at it blankly for a moment having forgotten how to read or move or do anything but try and stay upright.

Clive Barnaby. That sounds familiar. Rory said. Isn't it-

It apparently hit us at the same time because before he'd even finished I was tearing open the package. I read Mr. Barnaby's note, tossed it aside, opened the letter and, well, you know what it said.

And then I fell to my knees because my daughter was dead. And my husband joined me because his daughter was dead. And my son in a fit of anger and grief slammed his fist through a wall because his sister was dead. And then the phone started ringing shrilly because my only living daughter was calling from Scotland because confessional dials have no proximity limits and because her sister was dead.

Then we got your letter.

I haven't the energy to dissect it piece by piece, Doctor. I'm nearly 60 years old and I'm far too tired. I should be planning a funeral for my child but we don't have a body. So there won't be a funeral. No ceremony. No gravestone. No singular place to mourn her. We have nothing.

You left us nothing.

But I will tell you this; you can keep your apologies, your reasons, your philosophy.

I have no stomach for your rationalizations anymore and no patience for your promises.

You promised you would find my baby. You didn't.

You promised you would look after Melody. You didn't.

You promised, you _swore_ on your life she would be safe.

And yet here you are and our daughter is gone.

I trusted you, even through all this we trusted you and you have betrayed us.

So when we came running to you in Central Park you couldn't face your future, eh? I'm not surprised. That's what you do. You run. You run from things that threaten your fantasy world. And when you can't run you use us as your shields. How many lives did Melody have, Doctor? Twelve? And in the end she gave them all to you. Every. Last. One. You drained her dry. You left her a husk.

My daughter told me to never let you see the damage.

Damn that advice.

You will see this damage, Doctor. You will see what you've done, what you've caused. I will lay it bare for you and you will damn well look at it and never forget.

You should have told us. I have seen you bend, break and shatter laws of time at your convenience and I have certainly seen Melody rip a hole in the world for you. Do you just pick and choose? If it's sunny outside do you just decide to live by the rules of your long dead people? Was that my daughters crime, she caught you on a sunny day?

And yes, you're right, you made her feel small. But then, you have a way with that don't you? You made her feel insignificant and second best, half a Time Lord and less than a wife.

Damn you.

As for how much of me did you create? None. I created myself out of the ruins of the adults who betrayed me, you included. You don't get that, Doctor. You don't get to rewrite my life and my struggles and triumphs and decisions and make them yours. I'll carry my own cross, thank you. You don't get anything from me anymore.

For the first time ever in my life I do wish you had never come back for us.

Well, what do you know? I had the strength to dissect your letter after all.

So, that's it then. That's all I have to say to you. Our association is concluded. What my husband chooses to do is ultimately up to him. However, you and I are at an end.

One final thing; stay away from my children. You are never, under any circumstances to contact Vickie or Tony. You keep your distance from them or so help me there isn't time and space enough to protect you from me.

Goodbye, Doctor.

Forget we ever met. I know I'll do my best to do the same.

Amelia Jessica Pond-Williams

* * *

**Curators Note: At this point, Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams declines from addressing future journal entries to the Doctor.**


	255. June 6, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of June, 1965

Dear Dad,

Did Melody ever visit you? I hope she did. Or does. If it hasn't happened yet or even if it has, since she may drop by again, please, please make time for her. I wrote to you in 1954 and told you to give her hug and tell her how much you love her. That seems so flip now. So bloody cavalier. I need you to do more than that now, Dad. I need you to bring her inside, sit her down and ask her to tell you about her life. I need you to devote all your attention and focus and love towards her. I need you to tell her how important family is and no matter how weird things have gotten she is your granddaughter and you love her. I need you to make her feel absolutely overwhelmed with how much she is adored. I need you to-

I need you, Dad. I wish you were here right now because I really just need you.

I also need you to make sure you don't repeat a word of what I'm about to tell you to her.

She's gone, Dad. Melody died, somewhere very, very far away from home.

I've felt this way twice before. As though someone had reached inside my body and removed everything, everything that props me up, that let's me walk and talk and function. Everything that made me human has been put on hold, paused. If someone pushed me I'd fall over. If they punched me their hand would go right through. I am hollowed out.

I loved her, Dad, I loved her so much and yes, that probably sounds obvious. But it didn't have to be.

I liked River Song. I thought she was a very smart and clever and cheeky woman and a perfect match for the Doctor. As I said, I liked her, nothing more. But when we found out she was our daughter everything changed...but not enough.

All while the Doctor and I were searching, through all the spying and the violence and tracking down one contact after another from the Cyber Legion to sleazy alien dive bars, I was imagining life with Amy and I and a brand new baby. It was always running in the back of my brain like a wonderful little film. I kept thinking, How lucky am I? Wife of my dreams and now a child. All we needed to do was get her back, get them back and life could start.

But then RIver told us who she was and I was blindsided.

I hate the way I handled it. It was nearly 40 years ago and I still think of our behaviour and it makes me sick to my stomach. I'm ashamed and embarrassed and I feel I never just told her how sorry I was. The Doctor told her to get us home and she did that. Dropping us off right in our lounge. Amy and I just stood there. It was so surreal, everything that had just happened. And now here we were back at home and it was drizzling outside and there was a message on the answer phone and no food in the fridge and I had work the next morning and everything was normal, normal, normal except that Amy had been gone for over nine months and was wearing thin hospital clothing that still had greasy looking Flesh-stains on the arms and I was dressed like a bleeding Roman and we were quite cruelly, childless.

Except we weren't.

Riv-...er. Amy began. It had come out awkwardly and she swallowed, avoiding eye contact. She then began again. I'm going to have a bath, I think.

Yeah, and I'm going to change as well. I said taking her hand. River, we'll be back, alright?

River nodded, silently and I had never seen her try to take up so little space.

You can have a seat or a look round. Whatever you like, alright? I added.

Thank you, Rory. She said in return. Her voice was soft and had a small quaver to it.

I followed Amy upstairs fully expecting her to break down right away. But she didn't. Listlessly she undressed in the bathroom and put on a dressing gown, turning on the water seated herself on the edge of the tub. The gown was open a bit and she placed her hand over her abdomen, absentmindedly stroking the roundness that remained there as she stared off into space. I knelt down in front of her and took her hands.

I'm here, alright, Amy. I'm here and I will always be here. We'll work on this together. You are not alone, do you hear me?

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck and I held her close.

Then she whispered in my ear.

Rory?

Hmm?

I don't want her here.

I didn't say anything at first. I just held her as she held me and we inhaled and exhaled together.

We can't just... I said weakly but I only ended up trailing off. Because, Dad, the truth was...I didn't want her there either. You have no idea what a monster I feel like even writing that.

Rory, no. Amy replied and for the first time since it happened there was a steely strength there.

Why don't you have your soak and-

No! You're not listening to me!

I am, I'm listening. I said trying to quiet her as she raised her voice but it was no use. She was breaking before me.

I can't do it! I can't! I can't and you're not listening! Rory! My baby is gone! She said striking her chest so hard it made me wince. Then she did it again and again until I grabbed her fist to stop her. My baby is gone! She was in my arms and she's gone!

She was growing more hysterical by the minute, her face red, her already bloodshot eyes filled with tears.

It's not the same! I can't just be expected to... She began as she pointed out of the door. I followed her finger terrified River might be standing there watching all this. She wasn't.

It's not the same, it's not the same! She insisted and the dam of tears broke as she fell against me, hitching and sobbing. I joined her, tears flowing down my face as well while propping her up.

Send her away. She whispered against the breastplate of my armor.

And I nodded.

I did my best to soothe her, to piece her back together as I helped her into the tub. She was still shaking and breathing raggedly and I excused myself for a moment to change clothes. Coming back into the bathroom I again got on my knees by the tub.

I'll tell her maybe now isn't the best time, ok?

Amy nodded.

But, Amy...she is our daughter.

The only reply I got was a blank stare. And so I left my wife to her bath and went back down the stairs to my daughter.

I found her sitting on the sofa wearing the look everyone does when they're trying so hard to convince you they didn't hear what they just heard.

River-

I was thinking...now might not be the best time for a family reunion. She interrupted me as she popped off the couch, her words were quick her smile fragile and threatening to break at any moment.

It's just that Amy is upset. It's nothing personal it's just..she...we've lost...

I recall I started to paw at my eyes, wanting to hold those damned tears back.

I completely understand. I would have left a bit ago but, you know, didn't want to be rude.

Where will you go?

Oh plenty of places for me to head to and get into trouble.

I approached her, unsure of even my own intentions and I saw her both sag and stiffen at the same time.

Rory, I do understand. I can't just expect you two to welcome me with open arms. The story even sounds far fetched to my ears and I've lived it! She tried to sound cheerful but it was hollow.

You're always welcome to come back. We just need a bit of-

Time, of course. I've got loads of time. Well.. She said as she input coordinates into her vortex manipulator. Best be off.

She glanced upwards and swallowed hard.

Do give Amy my love, won't you?

Yes of course. I replied hoarsely, unsure of how to manage even that.

Love to you as well...Rory.

And then she was gone.

That night was horrible. Because, you see, it's not just the grief you have to deal with but the practicalities of everyday life that still needed to be attended to. We slowly came to the realization that this would be our secret alone to bear. We couldn't tell her parents or you, not our friends or employers. There could be no time off to mourn and yes, we were mourning. There was only life which was relentlessly marching towards us. She sobbed against me in bed until she literally succumbed to exhaustion. I tried to be strong but somewhere around 3AM I lost it. I dashed to the bathroom and started what would wind up being a truly impressive cyclical vomiting session interspersed with near hysterical weeping of my own, smothered by my own fist. Amy and I know better...but we have an ugly habit of grieving separately. We retreat into ourselves and can only watch one another from a distance. I pray that doesn't happen this time. I won't allow it to.

I know that between then and now things were mended a thousand times over with Melody. Amy and I saw her as what she was, our amazing, brilliant, incredible, superhero daughter. Loving, devoted, everything a parent could want. Those two people who all but shoved her out of their home years ago don't feel even remotely like us. I can't even remember what it was like to not feel as though she was ours.

But they were us. And it would be dishonest to deny it.

If you had told me then that I could trade Professor River Song to have that tiny, perfect baby back I would have done so in a second and with only a twinge of regret.

If you had asked me that last week or anytime during the past 35 or so years, as we all gathered together to celebrate her birth I would have given an emphatic no. No, thank you. My Melody is perfect and I wouldn't trade her for the world. Not even for a younger, brand new, tabula rasa version of herself. Why would I ever trade my daughter for my daughter?

And yet I still can't shake all this awful, sick guilt. When I close my eyes I see her face, delicate and barely holding itself together as her parents turn her away. It fucking torments me and I never got to say I was sorry. I don't care how dangerous her life was, I was supposed to go first. I have always been willing to go first. You should never outlive your child. Not ever.

And yes, I realize the irony of what I'm saying to you of all people, Dad.

Maybe I feel guilty for something else too. Maybe I feel guilty because I let her persist in a life that would ultimately lead to her death. No one tells Melody Pond to do anything just as no one tells Amelia Pond to do anything but I could have tried. Amy said to me that in one of her last conversations with Melody she said she was leaving the Doctor. What if she'd done that sooner, pulled away faster? Would she still be here? Amy blames him...and I think us as well. I blame him but I blame myself more. I fell asleep on the job. I am the _pater familias_ and I am guilty of dereliction of duty. And I have a dead child to show for it. I was lax and lazy, greedy, self-centered and full of so much hubris. I also won't allow that to happen again.

Dad, I want absolution. Bless me father, for I have sinned. My duty was to hold her and comfort her and yet my first action was to turn her away. God knows how that shaped her life for the worse, no matter what came after it. Bless me, father.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

My baby is dead and I want to split apart the universe and pull her back where she belongs. I want to hold her and smell her. I want to touch her curls and hear her cheeky laugh. I want to hear her call me Daddy again. I want to sit with her and talk and talk and talk. We always had the best conversations and I never tired of listening to her. I want my baby back. I want to be forgiven. Jesus, God in Heaven I want my baby back.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

Ignosce mihi, pater, nam peccavi.

I know this letter was a bit mad. I'm sorry.

I'm just broken.

I love you, Dad.

_Filius est pars patris_


	256. June 1, 1965 (Edwin Bracewell)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Edwin Bracewell to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**1st of June, 1965**

My Dearest Amy,

I haven't the words to fully express my condolences and sorrow at the news of the passing of your daughter.

I am so very, very sorry.

This letter is unlikely to precede her arrival, however, I did want you to know that Vickie should be on her way back to you now via airplane.

She and I had just finished having a pleasant conversation over afternoon tea and she was in the process of writing correspondence, perhaps a letter to you. I only happened to look in her direction because I noticed she was suddenly motionless. Then there came from her, oh, the most awful, mournful wail. I rushed over to ask her what was the matter. I thought she was ill. But she couldn't answer me for nearly five minutes. She was just gazing off into the distance as though she were listening to something or someone.

I felt absolutely helpless and then she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said the incomprehensible, Melody's dead.

I couldn't believe it. I asked her how she could possibly know such a thing but she returned to her writing. She took a new piece of paper and scribbled upon it; Jack, where are you? Come quick.

Not moments after, the reply appeared. He stated he was in Barnton and I said, still peering over her shoulder; Why, that's not more than a half hour away.

Please come. She replied to him. I have to go home.

On my way, dear.

Not long after there was a rapid knocking on my door and the young man who I'd seen at Christmas some years ago was there.

Vickie rushed into his arms and he embraced her as she poured out the details of what happened. Details I'm still not sure I understand.

She turned to me and pulled me into her arms.

She expressed her apologies, all of which I brushed away. I told her she was my dear girl and if she needed to go then she must absolutely go. I promised to send her things along after her.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek, the young man nodded and within moments they were gone.

Amy both you and Rory were so kind to me when I lost my Dorabella. If there is anything you need, anything I can do at all, simply give it name and it is yours.

I understand that during such dark days your reply may be delayed or not come at all. I shall await it, as your ever patient and loving friend,

Always yours,

"Bracey"


	257. June 8, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of June 195

Dear Diary,

Jack arriving with Vickie somehow felt right. I knew he should be here as well but I've been unable to muster up any impetus to contact him or anyone else. I told Sunny that my cousin Melody had died, as that's how she had always known of her. She made many kind offers, none of which I took her up on.

Rory has an old friend from the hospital filling in for him at his office for a while. So, everything, for the most part, is taken care of.

There's a sort of grim irony to the fact that we're all gathered together again, as a family, to say goodbye.

I've never been sure of what I believed or needed to believe in terms of an afterlife. Like everyone, I hope there's something else out there. Rory and I grew up as rather loose-Anglican but I suspect he leans more Catholic now, though he won't admit it.

It's strange. I have no idea why he denies it. The Church brought him so much comfort over the years and as best I can determine a... serenity. I'm jealous of that especially now. Don't for a second think I'm saying he's lucky of that he's handling this better than I am. I'm not having a pissing contest about who's suffering more.

I just wish I felt that she was somewhere now.

But unsurprisingly the universe seems completely devoid of her presence.

Not long ago Melody told me about the Matrix. Time Lords are naturally connected to the Matrix or they were when there was one. I'm not sure if she would have qualified if she would have made their goddamn cut. But, in the end, I guess it doesn't matter.

You know, I always used to hate Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. I hated the idea of somehow dying in my sleep and I hated the idea that you had to pray to God for him to take your soul. I hated the idea that maybe if you didn't He wouldn't. If you forgot one night and you had the misfortune of dying then your soul was just up for grabs. Anyone could take it. Or no one. And you might just be floating out there untethered. I think I figured that's what ghosts were. Unclaimed souls, souls no one wanted. Poor souls that had forgotten to say their prayers on that one fateful night. Eventually, I just started praying to Santa.

I can't help but worry that Melody is out there somewhere untethered.

I don't even know if I really believe in souls. Or maybe I do. Do you ever really know? In any case, she isn't in the Matrix. Time Lords didn't really have a religion. According to things Rory told me a long time ago they did have weird cults but it seemed as though that embarrassed _ to speak of them.

No. I won't write his name. I won't write his name again. He gets a _. Nothing more.

So, no religion from us, no religion from Gallifrey, no Matrix. Maybe no Heaven...or no soul.

This is the perfect time to have an existential crisis, I suppose.

This morning we gathered together in Central Park on Bow Bridge.

Rory spoke, as did Vickie and Tony and Jack as well. I don't remember what I said. Is that odd? I just remember staring down into that water as I had done 22 years before. Again, we tossed in cherry blossoms and again the current whisked them away.

When I was a teenager I remember snooping in my parent's bedroom as all kids do. I came across a note from Therapist Number...well, I can't remember the number. He said he believed that I disassociated from grief and general unpleasant emotions. That I hid from such true feelings behind a wall of banter, sarcasm, and irritation all of which could eventually spiral into destruction and violence, self and otherwise.

I snickered at that when I first read it. It sounded so boneheaded and completely off. That wasn't me. That wasn't me at all. I don't hide. I am fully in touch with my emotions, I said confidently.

I asked Mels once what she thought of that summation.

She'd grinned and said, We're peas in a pod, you and me. Both of us are smart enough to play things close to the vest where they belong.

I asked Rory years ago too on some lazy day in Leadworth when we were kids.

I just assume when you tell me a story you're only giving me about 1/4 of the information. You don't like to share, Amy. People think I'm the shy one but really it's you. Head full of secrets.

I even asked _. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking.

Oh, Amy...I choose my friends for many different reasons. Sometimes because they are very different from me. Other times because they are very much the same.

Three answers, all essentially identical. I didn't feel quite so confident.

When Adora died the earth swallowed me up and I let it. I nearly lost my husband and my sanity and yet I feel the same pull again now. Now, when I have even more to lose. But...I don't know how to cope with this. I don't understand the idea that I won't ever see Melody again. Like _, there was something about her that seemed immortal.

Rory and I have known our daughter in one incarnation or another for 52 years. Since we were both 7. There's not been a moment of my life, no occasion, no incident or decision big or small where she didn't factor in. This is all somehow a heartbreak beyond words.

We came back to the house after the ceremony. I kissed my living children and told them I loved them. I hugged and thanked Jack for coming. And finally, I wrapped my arms around Rory and kissed him as well. And then I left them all and went to our room and crawled into bed.

This is one of those rare and undeniable times where I feel as old as I am if not older.

All I can think of is how much more Melody had to see and do and experience. How much the Universe owed here the quiet time she was trying to carve out for herself. How much she deserved the happiness she'd finally decided to pursue on her own terms. And how it had been so ruthlessly snatched from her.

I miss her so much I can't even breathe.

Tonight I went outside and I tried to find the deep, deep blue in the night sky Vincent told us about. But I think without him it's hidden from me. He had already painted _The Starry Night_ a full year before we arrived.

When he died he told his brother, Theo, _La tristesse durera toujours._ That means; The sadness will last forever. I wanted to save Vincent for noble and selfish reasons alike. I liked him, a great deal. I thought he was funny and strange and brave and mad. A genius yes, but even then I was becoming a bit bored of genius. Yes, yes but what else have you got? Too close proximity to _, I suppose. It warped me and raised my expectations brutally high. Beyond the genius, he was a nice man. And there aren't as many nice people in this universe as I had once thought. I think...I also believed that if we could save him, maybe we could save me. He saw something in me that I'd tried to hide since I was small. Not just the loss of Rory, but so much else. I hear the song of your sadness, he said.

I've never liked the D-word. I fear that acknowledging it... _depression_ was sort of the final nail in the coffin. I've felt it threaten to swallow me up so many times in my life like a wave. Sometimes I fight, sometimes I float sometimes I feel as though I'm drowning. Right now I feel all three. I thought maybe we could save him, give him a reason to go on, show him how much joy he'd bring to the world. But it didn't matter. The water still got him. The tide comes for us all. His last painting was _Wheat Field with Crows_ and he completed it 75 years and one month ago. And then he shot himself in the chest in the middle of his wheat fields.

I never did find the blue.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. This diary thing now feels rather pointless

I'm no longer sure I should bother.

It's been 9 days. That's all, just 9 days though it feels like a lifetime. And what awaits is a lifetime without her.


	258. June 10, 1965

_**Curator's Note: The following was inserted into The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams at an unknown date. However, we speculate it to be between June 8th-10th** _

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**   
**Marker: Correspondence From Torchwood to Captain Jack Harkness**   
**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Torchwood One**

**Communique to Torchwood White**

Unable to establish communication with Torchwood Black.

Radio silence

Please advise regarding last contact

**Torchwood White to Torchwood One**

Torchwood Black is currently incommunicado for an, as yet, indeterminate amount of time. For the time being I'll handle any and all assignments designated for them.

**Torchwood One**

**Communique to Torchwood White**

Unacceptable. Request elaboration regarding situation that currently has Torchwood Black decommissioned

**Torchwood White to Torchwood One**

Well, it's going to have to be acceptable, Goddamnit. Someone died. Amy and Rory are not accepting any further assignments until they say they are. I will handle their workload. End of discussion.

\- Jack

**Torchwood One**

**Communique to Torchwood White**

Please refrain from swearing as well as the use of proper names.  
As requested, Torchwood Black is deactivated until further notice.


	259. July 17, 1965

**Curator's Note: To avoid confusion after the initial introduction of the participants they will be identified only by their first and last initials.**

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Anthony Brian Williams to Miss Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

* * *

**Mr. Anthony Brian Williams** : Vick? You there?

 **Miss Victoria Lake Williams** : Yeah...what's up?

 **AW** : I looked for you in your room. Where are you?

 **VW** : I'm out with Jack. I told him I needed to get gone for awhile and he took me to lunch. What's happening?

 **AW** : I thought Uncle Jack was gone again?

 **VW** : He was. Now he's back.

 **AW** : Alright, it doesn't matter. Mom and Dad are having a huge fight. It's been going on for the better part of an hour.

 **VW** : What about?!

 **AW** : Fucking Torchwood.

 **VW** : What about it?

 **AW** : Mom wants to go on an assignment and Dad's flipped his wig. Ask Jack if he knows anything about it.

 **VW** : One moment... Ok, he says TW was trying to get hold of them but they weren't answering. I'm guessing this is when we weren't checking the mail. Jack told them we'd had a death in the family and he would handle things. ...Tony, you still there?

 **AW** : Hang on...Dad just told her she's out of her mind. That she can't run away from this.

Mom said, 'He can't tell her what to do, he never could and she's going.' Dad said, 'Amy, you do this every single time. You lose something and you vanish and you make damn sure to shut me out when you do.' Mom said, 'I don't know how to share this Rory, I don't. I don't know what you want from me! What sort of performance of grief do you require?' Vick, this sounds so bad.

 **VM** : I'm coming home.

 **AW** : No, wait a second. I don't think we should jump into this. I'm hiding in my bedroom like a kid, I'm not even sure they remember I'm home. This sounds...old. You know what I mean? Like an old fight they just keep having. Alright, I'm trying to shorthand this, they're going so fast;

Dad: Don't you dare say that to me. This isn't about what I require of you. This is about what's best for you and for us. Amy you vanished when we got to Manhattan. You were a bloody ghost, never getting out of bed or when you did spending all these hours in the cinema day after day after day. And when we lost Adora you slammed the door on me again. Goddamn it, Amy I have spent decades trying to breach your walls. Do you think we might ever reach a point where you'll trust me?

Mom: I'm sorry I can't quite be so zen about this as you are, Rory. I can't just make peace with the fucking universe or the fucking Doctor who let our child die. (long pause) I didn't mean that.

Dad: Yeah, but you said it anyway.

Mom: I'm sorry.

Dad: (mumbles something I can't make out)

Mom : That isn't true.

Dad: But I think it is. I think that's what it's been all along. It wasn't the adventure or the traveling or the danger or even his looks. You wanted someone who you could _not_ feel things with.

Mom: Rory-

Dad: No, I think I've got it. Maybe not feel things with isn't exactly the language. You wanted someone who would never let you in so you didn't have to feel guilty about not letting him in.

But that's what you always got wrong about me and about him. We both wanted to hear you. We both wanted to be let in! He just has a much higher tolerance for it than I do!

 **VW** : Jack says we should stop listening to this. He says it's private.

 **AW** : Bugger Jack. This is important.

Mom: I don't have your faith, Rory, alright?

Dad: Bullshit. Faith? What are you even talking about?

Mom: You think she's somewhere. Admit it. You think her soul or her essence is somewhere. You believe that, so just admit it.

Dad: ALRIGHT! I _hope_ she's somewhere! ...I _think_ she's somewhere!

Mom: And I don't! I don't think she's anywhere! I don't think Adora is anywhere! Or Winston or my Dad or Dorabella. The only thing I ever believed in was the Doctor and we see how that turned out. (long pause) You didn't have a door at the hotel.

Dad: I did have a door, Amy. It was an exit sign.

Mom: What does that even mean?

Dad: I don't know. Maybe it means I always believe there's a way out! An escape we haven't thought of, maybe even for death. I don't know. (Pause) Where do they want to send you?

Mom: Devil's Hole in Death Valley. They think there's something under the water. These divers-

Dad: Amy...you can fly over 2500 miles away and you can focus your attention 900+ feet underwater. But eventually, you're going to have to come home. And Melody will still be dead and we'll still have to deal with it and figure out some way to go on.

Vick, Mom is crying again. I think maybe Dad too.

Mom: Do I always run?

Dad: Not always. But I'll always run after you. I'm sorry.

Mom: No, I'm sorry. I'll stay. I'll stay.

 **VW** : What's happening now?

 **AW** : They went quiet, except I think I can still hear crying but it's soft. Alright, they just went in their room and closed the door. I'm high-tailing it out of here before they realize I heard. I'll meet you and Jack.

 **VW** : We're at the Carnegie Deli.

 **AW** : On my way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: As I've mentioned before I am always interested in exploring Amy's damage; the ways that she's so much better and the ways that she's not. She's always growing, always changing, never stagnant but sometimes she has setbacks. I think, like Rory and the Doctor she's this multifaceted, complicated individual and I've tried to highlight the darker areas of her mind and past in various places throughout this story. But most recently, with her letter to the Doctor, all those old feelings of betrayal cropping back up. The feelings that came along with "Why did you say five minutes!?" and
> 
> "Amy, you need to start trusting me. It's never been more important."
> 
> "But you don't always tell me the truth."
> 
> "If I always told you the truth, I wouldn't need you to trust me."
> 
> All of that natural skepticism that she only repressed for two people in the entire universe; The Doctor and Rory just blew up in her face. She's angry, she's scared, she's lashing out, she's even testing her husband. Her natural inclination when she's frightened or hurt or cornered or sad or depressed is to push people away. But she's better than she was 40 years ago, hell, she's better than she was 10 years ago. But Melody's death brings a lot of things to the surface.
> 
> All three of these characters are precious to me but I think Amy is often the most misunderstood of all and I protect her at all costs. :)
> 
> Ok, I had a burst of creativity over the Labor Day holiday and I decided to take advantage of it. Hope you guys liked it. But don't expect this kind of output to start to be the norm!
> 
> 9/7/16


	260. July 24th, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24 of July, 1965

I woke up this morning and realized that Amy and I forgot to celebrate our wedding anniversary.

June 26th was our 36th year together as husband and wife and we let it drift past. When I told her over breakfast she frowned as if preparing to correct my memory. I saw the pained little expression come to her eyes when she realized it was true.

Oh my God. We forgot.

It's understandable. I said softly.

We should do something.

Really? I asked with surprise. I had been so sure she'd want to just let it pass and perhaps wait for next year.

Yes, don't you want to?

Of course.

But nothing posh...just simple. I don't feel much like dressing up and going out.

I agreed with her so we just had a quiet evening at home. We exchanged gifts ignoring the tradition that said 36 years is bone china. We had our dinner and rather listlessly watched a movie.

Halfway through she raised her head which she'd been resting on my shoulder.

Rory?

Hmm?

You make me very, very happy.

Taking her hand I brought it up to my lips and kissed each one of her knuckles.

Not nearly as happy as you make me, Amy. To 36 more.

To 36 more. She repeated...and that was essentially it.

In the wake of it, all Amy and I are...well, Amy and I _are_. We exist, we continue to stand and we continue to stand together. The kids are back in school, I'm back at work and Amy is still trying to figure out what she wants to do.

I thought I'd have to argue with her regarding Cordelia Puddle. I didn't want her to stop writing them and not just because I love them, though I do. And not just because it would break the hearts of a lot of kids and adults, which it would. But because it revitalizes her, because she needs it and loves it. I was all ready to present these facts as I mounted my argument but she just smiled.

Rory, I'm not abandoning it. I'm not Cordelia and she isn't me. Her life is a fairy tale.

I didn't know exactly what that meant. I still don't but I didn't press her. I suppose I'll find out.

She's resolute in her plan to never write to you again. She says she has nothing left to say. To my surprise this wasn't followed by the ultimatum I anticipated. She told me in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to keep writing to you she would have nothing to say about it one way or the other.

I no longer have a need for the voice of God, Rory. I'm done with petitions and prayers. There are plenty of people to worship him all over this galaxy. Him and his box and his terrible majesty. They can have him. Consider me an apostate.

I still don't know what exactly I want to do.

The funny thing is...or rather, it's not actually funny at all, is I've seen her like this before. _We've_ seen her like this. At Two Streams when we met 58 year old Amy. It only just occurs to me that she's but a year older than that now.

She hated you. With every fiber of her being she hated you and when she said your name it was with a sneer of contempt. That was Amy beyond you. Out of your reach, nearly out of mine. Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like with both of them. I was ready, I was as prepared as anyone could be. The wife and the wife. But Amy One, and logically, I consider the Amy that was there first and aged there to be Amy One, didn't have much of an interest in staying with me. Not that I think Amy Two, or Amy Prime (?) would have been so interested in sharing. Amy One was done with the TARDIS and whatever magic it had once held for her. She was done with you. My Amy feels the same.

Just to be as clear as possible, she hates you, Doctor. And she thinks you have Melody's blood on your hands. Worse still, is the knowledge that you've had it since the day you met us. Everything was a lie.

Except it's not quite that simple is it?

Amy and I are different and the experiences that she had with you separately are different from the experiences we three shared. She traveled with you and without me before Venice and then again without me after Cwmtaff. There were so many spaces to tell her, to ease her into it. And yes, I know, you didn't know who Melody was but still...

I'm not better than Amy. I'm not smarter or more forgiving and if you or anyone else were to think that you'd all be wrong. I have no mastery over her heart nor do I want it. The truth is you and I and Amy fit together in different ways at different times.

None of this isn't to say I'm not furious with you. I am. Emotions don't have to be entirely rational. I don't have to examine the facts before telling you I want to punch you repeatedly. I want to scream at you for making my daughter question, perhaps, everything that had to do with her life with you. I want to throttle you into unconsciousness. I want to beat you until you bleed. I want to be the cause of your next regeneration. And all because you let us fall so deeply and irrevocably in love with our daughter who was already dead.

Except she wasn't dead, she was alive and vibrant and real. She was real. What am I even asking, that you would have preemptively taken that from us?

Amy once compared Jack to Cassandra. Seeing the world and what was coming and not being able to do a thing to stop it. I know what that feels like. I'm no historian but I remember the big dates; the ones that made the books, the ones that changed the tide. And there were some...that with my foreknowledge I could have stopped. Somethings I could have warned people about. Sometimes I did and other times...I didn't.

Is it fair that I weigh your betrayal as heavier than mine because you knew and loved us. Probably not. But I do.

What does a time traveler owe? What is my debt to this planet? How have I failed it?

And is all this what we agreed to when we came aboard?

Is that part of the waiver we sign when we become travelers at your side? Is that what's written in fine print on the ticket? Admit One. Management Takes No Responsibility For Intentional Or Unintentional Betrayal, Temporal or Otherwise.

I don't know. But I feel such anger towards you. Such malice. Maybe I think it would hurt you more to read these things than to never hear from me again.

Maybe I don't know what I'm going to do.

Maybe I'm talking out of my arse.

I'm jealous of Amy's surety in all this.

I don't know when or if I'll write to you again.

-Rory

 

 


	261. Chapter 261

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

 

12th of August, 1965

 My son and I spoke into the receiver at the same time.

I want you to go to Canada. I said. Nelson, British Columbia.

I enlisted, Dad. He said. I'm leaving in a month.

We both paused before unintentionally doing it again.

I'm not going. He said.

You're not going. I said.

And then things erupted.

Why in God's name would you do something so gobsmackingly thickheaded? I said...or perhaps shouted into the phone. And why wouldn't you tell me?

It's not your decision, Dad. It's mine and I made it already.

I am willing and ready to do everything in my power to keep you safe. To keep you out of harm's way and you, for some reason, want to thwart me at every turn. You haven't thought this through at all.

Of course, I've thought it through.

No, you couldn't possibly have. Enlisted or not you can still go to Canada. This isn't up for discussion. We're not sitting Parliament. This is a dictatorship, not a democracy.

You're not listening to me.

That's because you're not making sense.

I'm doing this because of you. He said quietly.

What?

I said I'm doing this because of you! He stated again except this time it was a shout. Your stories. Your lessons. Your words. You always fought for what mattered, for what was right.

This war isn't right, son. It just isn't. It's based on a faulty premise and a lie and jingoism and fear and the blatant and disgusting hubris that comes with using the youth of a nation as though they were some sort of...of disposable commodity. All so they can obliterate people on the other side of the globe. And even if it wasn't any of those things. Were it the most righteous battle that has ever been waged, it's a war our side doesn't win. 211,454, that's how many American's die in Vietnam. What difference do you think you can make by adding to that sum?

I know it's not right, Dad. Jesus, do you think I'm stupid? I know it's wrong. I know we lose. I'm going because they need help. Everyone there needs help. I'm going to train to be a medic. They need medics. They were going to call me anyway. There was no way around this. This way I got to choose.

There were plenty of ways around this. Student deferment, conscientious objector. I said in a rush before pausing and starting again. Medics still get shot... and killed.

I looked down at my hand and noticed I was making a fist so tight there were white splotch marks on my fingers. Amy had heard me shouting and of course had come to see what all the yelling was about. It hadn't taken her long to figure it out and she was now sobbing at my side, quietly begging me to convince him. I was doing my best.

I'm doing what you taught me to do. Even when it seems like a lost cause you stand up, you raise your voice, you say you're here to help and you do what you can to make a terrible situation a little better. I'm going, Dad and you can't stop me.

Don't. Don't act like I told you to do this. I didn't. I never would and if you got the impression...then I must have told you all the wrong stories. I did this so you didn't have to. I said into the receiver before my anger overtook me. I DID THIS SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO, ANTHONY!

It doesn't work like that, Dad. You know better. I hope you'll understand this someday.

Your mother's crying. I said into the phone. It was a brutal and low blow. I knew how he cherished Amy and wanted to protect her. Since Melody had died he'd called home every day just to check in with her. I wasn't proud of having done it and especially as I heard him swallow hard on the other end of the lineWhat exactly do you propose I tell her, Anthony?

Tell her...Williamses don't run. He said resolutely. Tell her, Ponds don't run. You both taught me that. Either you support me or your don't, Dad. But that doesn't stop the fact that I'm heading to Fort Dix in a few weeks. Goodbye.

And he hung up. I slammed the receiver down. Then I picked it up and slammed it against the wall. This time it shattered sending plastic shards to the floor. I think I must have roared something like; God damn him! I remember shaking with anger. Anger at myself. Anger at him. Anger at the Doctor.

Amy was looking at me in horror.

It can't be. She said softly. Not another one.

He's not going. I said simply, holding fast to the idea. He's not going. I repeated.

How is he not? If we try to buy his way out, he'll go anyway. If you call in favors, he'll go anyway. If you send him to Canada, he'll go anyway. I could hear him and I could hear it in his voice. He's stubborn and pig-headed. He's got too much of us in him. They both do. They all did. She said grimly.

There's still time to talk him out of it. There's time and we'll find a way. I said to her but I wasn't so sure then and I'm even less sure now.

 

 


	262. September 20th, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mr. Anthony Brian Williams** **to Ms. Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**September 20th, 1965**

**_Fort Dix, New Hanover Township, New Jersey_ **

Dear Vick,

How are things going? Hope you don't mind I'm using regular, boring old paper. Not the Melody-kind.

I miss you a lot, I'm not ashamed to admit that. I'm not much of a letter writer so we'll see how this goes. But you asked me to send you stuff, so here I go.

You probably want an impression of what this first week has been like. Well, not like I expected.

I got my head shaved a few days ago, everything buzzed to the bone it feels like. I'd send a picture if I could because I know you'd split your sides.

There's been a lot of tests and I mean a lot.

After taking the first one they pulled me aside and said we think you might have the stuff to be an officer. They asked me about my family and Dad.

I told him, yes, he'd served proudly in WW2 and that he held the rank of Major. They were all impressed with that and said I could follow in his footsteps. Apparently, I'd scored high enough on the test to be considered a candidate for officer training.

Then we took some other test with all these weird questions about latitude and longitude and the horizon and the next thing I know I'm getting a visit from Warrant Officers saying they want to skip me past boot camp and teach me how to fly planes and helicopters. As politely as I could I told them no and that was that.

Except Dad always said that is never just that when it comes to the military.

All the guys here like to talk about their dads. My old man this and my old man that. I just kinda keep my mouth shut. Their fathers are all proud of them.

I also don't mention to the guys that I volunteered because that seems like the only smart way to play it. They're a bunch of 1-A's and the rest because it was this or jail. Seems like nobody wants to be here but they put on a brave face. I guess maybe so am I.

How is Dad, by the way? I wrote to mom the other day...but I thought you might know something.

So, as for the place itself, it's really old. It's already cold here at night and I imagine it's just going to get colder. They're still using coal to heat the place and everything is made of wood so I'm afraid it's going to go up in flames any second. The mess halls are pretty bad too. Rats and roaches everywhere, even in the food! I learned pretty quickly to not just assume everything I saw was a raisin. The water is brown and while it's pretty foul to drink a hot shower is really, really nice at the end of a long day. And the days are long. Up at 5AM and if I'm lucky back in bed by 10 at night. There's marching, endless marching. Miles to the rifle range, miles to toss grenades. Belly-crawling through mud and ice and rain.

Dad never let us around guns much but I'm making up for it now. I can disassemble, clean and then reassemble a M-1 Garand rifle in the dark no,w and probably with my eyes closed. Soon we're going to move on to learning how to dig foxholes. I doubt it's as easy as it sounds.

Anyway, that's all for now.

Write back, ok Goober?

Your dumb brother,

Tony

 

 


	263. September 28th 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From** **Ms. Victoria Lake Williams to **Mr. Anthony Brian Williams****

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**28th of September 1965**

London, England

Dear Tony,

No, I don't mind regular paper. A letter is a letter and it's nice to get things in the post, especially from you.

Mum and Dad talked me back into university, as you know, so I'm in classes a lot. And still I don't feel like I'm learning much of anything. I feel uneasy. There's this unspoken sort of rule that we, my mates and I, don't talk about what's going on. We don't talk about the"safe" parts of town and the "safe" pubs. We just know them and stay where things are ok.  I mean, they talk a good game about what needs to change but no one wants to sit down and organize. Everyone wants to talk shite about America and how awful things are in the

I feel uneasy. There's this unspoken sort of rule that we, my mates and I, don't talk about what's going on. We don't talk about the"safe" parts of town and the "safe" pubs. We just know them and stay where things are ok.  I mean, they talk a good game about what needs to change but no one wants to sit down and organize. Everyone wants to talk shite about America and how awful things are in the South, like they're fine here. But they're not. No one wants to really address that I'm a second-class citizen here too. I'm just frustrated. I feel restless.

Nobody is saying what I'm feeling. And I'm not feeling what they're laying down. I've got people in one ear saying "Relax, calm down, everything will come by and by, no need to be a radical." And then I got people in my other ear saying "Being a radical is the only thing that's going to fix things. Pamphlets ain't cutting it, little sister. Put down the paper and pick up a Molotov."

Fuck that noise.

I've lost friends...or people I thought were friends on both sides of this. But I'm not just going to sit idly by and I'm not going to hurt anybody. Where does that leave me?

I think I'm too young to be this disenchanted, Hahaha.

A lot of the time I just want to exist in my own skin and forget about anything else. That's trouble enough for one day, just getting by. Don't tell Mum any of this. She worries too much.

Speaking of Mum I talked to her the other day. She rung me and after she'd asked about every single area of my life from my health to whether or not I had enough light bulbs. Then she asked after you. She knows you only send her the cheery, sanitized letters and she asked me for the scoop. I told her you were doing well, holding up nicely.

She asked when you were going to write to Dad.

I asked when Dad was going to write to you.

We both concluded that you're stubborn arseholes to the manner born. We both hate the two of you not talking but likely not nearly as much as you hate it.

Just write to him, Tony. It's Daddy for God sakes. Daddy who loves us so much. Please don't leave things like this, not when you're going over there.

Mum didn't put me up to this, these are my words from my heart.

That's all, I won't hound you anymore.

I've enclosed some sweets and, some of those Opal Fruits and Flying Saucers that you like. Oh and a few of those God awful BlackJacks.

Oh, speaking of Jack, I kissed him. That didn't go well.

So, I suppose that's all that's going on here. You're all caught up.

Write back to me.

Love you,

Vick


	264. October 5th 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mr. Anthony Brian Williams to Ms. Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**October 5th, 1965**

Dear Vick,

Thanks for such a rapid-fire reply. You don't know how much I appreciate it. I didn't realize just how dependent I'd become on getting mail or how quickly it would happen. I guess it'll feel even more important later. I hope you'll always have time to write.

Vickie, the things that are important to you are important to me. And if I wasn't here I'd be over there with you, marching alongside you and boycotting and raising hell. But I can't separate all that from my fear of you getting hurt. What if the cops start cracking skulls, what if they start bombing over there like they do here?

I don't know if I've let myself...mourn Melody. I don't want anything to happen to you.

You know, we must write that sentence to each other more than any other family ever.

As for Dad, I'm not the one who stopped talking. He shows you a different side, Vick because you're a girl. And you can get all heated about that but it's the truth. He's got some path for me all mapped out and he flipped when I decided to make my own decisions. We've always butted heads, it's never been easy and I guess it never will be. We have a good stretch and then things go to hell again. He is impossible to live up to, his standards are impossible. You want to know the truth, and I've never told anybody this before, not even Melody. I think he's been disappointed in me for a really long time now. I think he thinks I'm a dud who makes terrible decisions and this is just another one. Maybe this was inevitable. Maybe this is just how things go. I think sometimes there's something between us, something I can't surmount. But like I told him before, he can either support me or not. But I'm still going.

Maybe we'll get it sorted out, maybe we won't. I've got bigger things on my mind now.

I've taken to basic training. I kind of thought I'd be shit at it but it's going well. I'm getting used to the way things are here. The order. The chaos. The Yes, sir. No, sir. All of it. It makes a certain kind of sense but I'm eager to be done and move on to specialized training. Not sure how much it's all going to matter though. Dad says, war is unpredictable. It doesn't follow a schedule or a road. War is a three letter word for uncharted.

God...I can't even go five minutes without quoting him.

Vick, do you think Melody was scared, at the end? She's the second bravest woman I've ever known, only second to Mum. It's hard to imagine her scared. But I don't know. It's been bothering me...keeping me awake.

Are you mad at the Doctor? 

You don't have to answer me if you don't want to.

Guess I'll end things here.

Oh but there is one more thing...YOU KISSED JACK!?

Jesus, Vick! Dad is going to kill him and then he's going to kill you and then he's going to kill him again. And then, somehow, I'll be blamed and he'll fly over to Vietnam and kill me.

What were you thinking?

This is really your goober-est move yet.

Write back!

Love,

Tony

 


	265. October 13, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From** **Ms. Victoria Lake Williams to **Mr. Anthony Brian Williams****

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**13th of October 1965**

London, England

Dear Tony,

What was I thinking? I was thinking he was attractive and clever and dashing and I've fancied him since I was a kid and why not go for it?

He spends a lot of time in the UK and he comes to visit me a lot. We go out for dinner or to the cinema. I've even ended up on a few adventures with him. Quite accidentally of course. Usually, times when it would be more inconvenient to take me back to the dormitories than it would to just take me along. Guess I never told you that. Guess I've never told anyone that. We all have secrets, Tony. That should be our family crest. A cutout of someone just going "Shhhhhh!".

Anyway, I liked it. I still like it. And I really don't care, for the record, if this makes you feel wiggy. I had to hear plenty about you and Janey and I mean that in _every_ way. Very thin walls back home.

It was like...we were dating. Except I knew he didn't see it that way. He still thought of me as a little girl and I aimed to relieve him of his misconception.

We went out. He drove me back home, I invited him up, my roommate was gone so I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. I offered him a drink. He accepted. And then I pounced. Quite literally. I did this launch at him. He spilled his drink as he fell back onto the bed and I kissed him.

Now I know for certain that he kissed me back even if it was only for a second. Then he said a string of some of the worst things anyone could say after you kiss them.

Here they are in no particular order.

I'm 134 years old!

Your father would have my head...and he'd mount something else of mine on his wall!

They've both already warned me off Pond women! More than once!

You're just a kid!

And then he said one really nice thing followed by a really sad one.

Victoria, you're lovely...but we can't.

And then he left. And then I cried.

He doesn't come to take me to the cinema or on adventures anymore.

But...such is life, I suppose. No more crying over it now.

Onward.

Now. 

As for you.

How dare you say that Dad thinks you're a disappointment. Or worse yet that there's something between you two. You know what you're coming dangerously close to saying, don't you? That he doesn't love you because you're not real enough, DNA wise. And you know what you do when you say that? You rope me into it too. And it's bullshit, Tony. They have never made us feel that we were anything but all theirs. Not ever. Your problems with Dad are because you're both rigid and inflexible and contentious.

I'll listen to all the complaining about Mum and Dad that you want to do and you know I'll always join in for a chorus or two...or twelve. But not this, Tony. I don't ever want to hear you imply what you just implied again, are we clear? And don't think that just means you should keep it to yourself. These things, these ideas that take root and they fester and grow and soon you don't know what the truth is anymore. You don't get to paint him as something he's not just because you're angry.

I'm actually quite cross with you right now but I'll answer your question before I go.

Do I blame the Doctor for Melody?

No. I saw them together, for years. I saw them in a way that you and Mum and Dad never got to. He loved her more than he loved breathing. There are things I believe with certainty and one of those things is the Doctor would and did do everything in his power to save her. I don't have any doubt.

I miss her every single day. But she was lost because people get lost. I don't mean that glibly or coldly. She was everything to me. Everything. I just mean sometimes there's just no one to blame. I hope you get that. I hope Mum will realize it too one day.

Ok. I have to go now.

I love you but you're an arse.

Love,

Vick


	266. Chapter 266

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mr. Anthony Brian Williams to Ms. Victoria Lake Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**October 17th, 1965**

Dear Vick,

I'm sorry.

You're right, Mom and also Dad, no matter what disagreements I may have with him at the moment, taught me better than this.

First off it's not my place to question what you do with Jack or anybody else. Just be careful, that's all I ask. And I'm sorry he made you cry.

As for Dad...you know I remember bits and pieces or bibs and bobs, as mom would say, of being in the orphanage. I remember feeling so isolated and alone. I remember the other kids scared me because they said things in English so rapidly I couldn't understand them. I tried but I couldn't. If I cried, they'd pick on me. If I didn't cry they'd pick on me. They called me names. These adults would come sometimes and I'd see them talk to the other children. Sometimes they'd take them with them and sometimes not. If they ever came over to me they didn't stay long. They didn't like those ugly German words coming out of my face. And after it happened so many times I just sort of gave up. I kept to myself, even when I knew potential parents would be coming. It didn't seem worth the effort anymore.

And one day I was sitting by myself, looking at a book, pretending to read I suppose but only really staring at the pictures. And I saw these two grownups come into the room. I knew they wouldn't be interested in the likes of me.

The man came over and he said, Hey there, how are you?

I understood him well enough. Those words were simple but I knew it was no use so I ignored him.

And then he smiled at me and said Hallo kleiner Mann. Und wie heißt du?

Hello little man, and what's your name?

I couldn't believe it. It had been so long since anyone had said anything to me that I could completely understand. He was so nice and so friendly and so big and strong and he took me into his lap and he read the story to me.

That was Dad. I'd never felt warmer or happier or as loved as I felt in that moment. I wanted to go home with them that day. And I've never been able to shake the feeling that maybe they made a mistake. Melody said she thought I figured they had buyers remorse.

She said she felt the same way sometimes. Like, she was a mistake they made when they were really young and now she was just haunting them. She said she used to feel that Mom and Dad were just too polite to tell her to scram. She told me she even worried a bit that when we came around they wouldn't need or want her as much. She said she got over it when she let _their_ voices start drowning out the voices in her head. She started believing them when they told her they loved her and missed her and needed her.

I wish I could feel that way too.

I know I'm not a little kid anymore but I wish I could feel that way again.

I head off to Fort Sam Houston pretty soon to start my medic training. If there's any sort of delay in you getting my letter or you sending yours off, don't worry, it'll catch up to me eventually.

Love you, Vick. Thanks for putting up with me.

Love, Tony

Tony


	267. Journal Of Impossible Things

_Curator's Note: Mrs. Pond-Williams appears to have photocopied the following page from the book of and pasted it into her journal. However, later on she has scratched at the page in an effort to obliterate the text with pen. As she kept the page in her journal so have we, unaltered and without further comment._

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_Journal Of Impossible Things_

There are things I shall only ever say to myself.

One of those things, perhaps the most secret and certainly the most scandalous is that I am a widower twice over. I lost Oliver at the start of 1900. I lost John 13 years later.

The Time Lord has such adventures. But he could never have a life like that.

Decades ago I sat next to the love of my life, my John and I clasped in my hand that blasted, bedeviled fob watch. And he put his hand over mine and in a few seconds we two lived a lifetime.

It was extraordinary and as real as anything I felt or experienced before or since. I could describe the afternoon he proposed, how nervous I felt before our wedding, the look on his face when I told him about our first child, our second, our third. Celebrating our anniversaries, watching our sons and daughter grow strong. Living, loving, laughing, crying, never spending a night apart not for 40 years. Comforting him, holding his hand and reassuring him as he died, mourning him. Mourning him. Mourning him.

A widow twice over. A life that never was, children that never came to be, a love that was sacrificed on the altar of an otherworldly battle.

All I was left with was the Doctor. Cool and reserved, apologetic but not overly so. I wonder how Martha could bear him. He asked me to join him but it seemed out of the question. One doesn't simply run off with the twin because the first brother has died. I couldn't even stand to look at him, to hear his voice. He was not the man I knew. He was not a man I wanted to know. He could only bring pain and deception and destruction. And if he could love, if...then his love was a devastating thing. A wrecking thing that brought nothing but damage the stronger it was.

But through the ensuing years I would pick up his journal now and again and it would become harder and harder to separate the two men, to not see them wedded by their pain and confusion and anger.

I asked the Doctor where was John and he replied that he was still within him. Somewhere...

Does it not remind one of Whitman?

_Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a_

_minute longer._

_Do I contradict myself?_

_Very well then I contradict myself,_

_I am large, I contain multitudes._

How can I hate the Doctor and John along with him?

How can I love John and not rejoice that he lives, eternally within another?

It is both complicated and simple and at the time I asked myself these question I was only frustrated by my answers.

The forgiveness I have now was hard fought. It is just as sincere as my anger was those years ago.

Sometimes, I wonder about Martha. She did not love John. In fact, she seemed quite vexed by him. She did, however, love the Doctor and though he appeared largely oblivious I found it an obvious thing.

How terrible for her. It must have been like trying to love a mountain or a distant star. The majesty and the awful awe that you're drawn to, is precisely the reason you couldn't hope to possess him. Nor should you want to. I hope, for her sake, she was able to overcome.

I fear this may be a terrible pronouncement, but I'm not sure that anyone should love the Doctor.

* * *

 

**A/N Happy New Year my friends. I wish you a peaceful, happy, safe and anxiety free 2017.**

**Thanks for sticking with me.**

**January 2, 2017**


	268. October 24, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Curator's Note:** The following pages appear to have been photocopied and placed carefully into Dr. William's journal un-dated. We do, however, speculate they best fit with the Autumn of 1965. The pages are from Dr. Jackson Lake's aforementioned book relating to astrophysics, mathematical theory, physics and The Doctor.

*Photocopying was done by a machine that produced paper copies of documents and visual images quickly and cheaply. Though having a personal version of this technology was wholly incongruous to 1965, we speculate that some of the equipment brought by their daughter, Melody Pond would have had this function.

* * *

 

**A Mote Of Dust**

Chapter 19

_The Beautiful or the Good_

Mathematics elevated takes on a mystical property. Probability, theory, infinity. Theses on the truth and lies to be found beyond the bounds of our solar system. Facts and fallacies of laws we know to be unassailable today which will be broken 10 years from now, 20, 30. There is a hope to be found in mathematics, a hope that says "I do not know. But I hope to know one day."

I find an incalculable beauty in theories, a largess found in no other place but perhaps the silent contemplation of the Divine. There is a beneficence in mathematics, especially in passing it on to the youth that is unmatched because it bestows upon them both a future and a past. Giants standing on shoulders of giants until we all one day walk astride into the beyond. Mathematics is the words of Psalms reimagined. "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I."

Mencken has said... _will_ say that higher maths are too intertwined with metaphysics and theology. What of it? Why shall they not all walk the same resplendent ground? Why must the line between the scientific and the theological be so broad a stroke? I have seen pure science, pure logic, pure creation...and though I could explain it in binary, in x's and zeroes and calculations and computations it would be better said with poetry.

Aristotle himself said "Those who assert that the mathematical sciences say nothing of the beautiful or the good are in error. For these sciences say and prove a great deal about them; if they do not expressly mention them, but prove attributes which are their results or definitions, it is not true that they tell us nothing about them. The chief forms of beauty are order and symmetry and definiteness, which the mathematical sciences demonstrate in a special degree."

I have "seen" a planet orbiting a black hole. I have "seen" a planet that absorbs so much light it is nearly dark as pitch. I have "seen" a planet that is 13 billion years old, three times older than our own. I have "seen" the beginning and the end of our Earth. I have "seen" peoples and creatures that have adapted to all manner of living and survival. I have "seen" those with knowledge that would astound the greatest minds of today. I have "seen" people, those who, for a sliver of time I thought were _my_ people, who could bend and rule time, as Ladies and Lords.

I have tried to teach this to my son but I believe he would find himself to be a more willing pupil of the likes of Mencken than myself. He finds me too fanciful. No, that is perhaps being kind. A great deal of the time when I say what I've written just above, he thinks that I am ranting like a madman. He's a man now, with children of his own and has retained no memory of the events of that Christmas of 1851. He doesn't remember his mother, my dearest Caroline. For him, Rosita filled that space in his memory and his heart. He already thought of her as his mum before I took her for my wife. To Frederick all that happened...well, it's just stories. Dear Rosita chided me early on to keep them that way. "There's no good can come of you filling his head with nightmares and wonders." she'd say. She was more than likely right. But they aren't flights of fancy, they aren't stories or make-believe or the ramblings of a daft old man. They are truth. For a very brief time my life and the Doctors life were intertwined and for an even briefer time they were one. What he saw, I have seen.

Though it made my head ache as my hands hovered above the levers and bobbles in his TARDIS I knew I could fly her. I knew the knowledge would flow from my fingertips as I launched her into the vortex.

When I told Frederic I was writing this book he was pleased and quite encouraging. When I told him I was including my knowledge of the Doctor he became sullen. "Why? Why, Father would you pollute it with nonsense. You have an amazing mind but rather than put it on display you'd prefer to deal in children's bedtime stories."

It has caused a surprisingly deep rift between us. He is trying to make a name for himself and I understand his reluctance to share Lake with me. Perhaps we are both too stubborn for our own good.

"I do not know. But I hope to know one day."


	269. Chapter 269

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mr. Anthony Brian Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**October 25th, 1965**

**Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas**

Dear Mom,

Everything's fine. Please don't worry about me.

Another day. Another boot camp. :)

So far we've just been watching films. A bunch of films. It had me sort of worried thinking, "Gosh, am I supposed to be getting everything I need to know by watching a movie?"

But, they tell us the hands-on stuff will come later. I'm looking forward to it and dreading it.

How are you? Your last letter was so nice. Sometimes if I close my eyes I can hear your voice and it's like you're reading it to me. I miss home. I miss all of you. But I know I'd better get used to it.

You asked if there was anything I need. I could do with some razor blades and socks. And always paper and pens and envelopes. Oh, and I wouldn't turn down some of those oatmeal cookies you make. :) And I'd sure take a good book if you come across anything you think I'd like. You know me.

Guess that's all. Short letter this time but it's late and I'm going to bed down for the night.

Love you, Mom.

Love,

Tony

* * *

 

**A/N:**

_*peeks around the corner sheepishly*_

Ummm hi.

First, an apology. I did not mean to vanish like that. To be honest, I'm not even sure as to what happened. With each week that went by I intended to come back to Epistolary and each time I just came up with nothing. I got stuck as to where the story should go next. Not in terms of big picture. As I've mentioned many times before I have had the arc of this story planned out from beginning to end. But small picture stuff got me scared, then terrified, then just paralyzed.

Not to mention, in ways that I'm not going to get into, 2017 was incredibly hard. It's not as if I have grand hopes for 2018. I don't. But I hate that this is unfinished. I love Epistolary. I _love_ it. That never stopped and I want to keep going and find my groove in it once again. I may be sporadic. I may not be on any kind of schedule but I promise I'm going to try and finish this.

Now, please remember, the next few short chapters I'm going to post were already written in December of 2016 or January of 2017. I haven't written anything new yet. But I want to. I never intended to abandon this story or any of you and I'm sorry that I did.

I _think_ I'm back now.

I _hope_ I'm back.

I hope you're still around.

But if you're not, I understand.


	270. November 2, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Correspondence from Mr. Martin Joseph Pail to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**November 2, 1965**

Dear Amy,

I thought about opening this with some quotation that would best fit the situation but in the end, I stopped looking. Because the only thing you really deserve to hear is I'm so sorry.

I understand the radio silence on your end and please, no apology is necessary.

Amy, of course, you're entitled to a break or a vacation. Whatever you like. Actually, whatever you need. I know this has been a rough year for you.

If you want to work on a sequel to Summer Fall, I'll support you. If you want to spin off back into the adventures of young Amy, I'll support that too.

But...you are planning to come back to the Doctor, aren't you? I mean, eventually.

With Cordy being asked to be taken home it seems rather final.

Far be it for me to question the author but I was just wondering. Plus, my kids are going to ask. :)

If there's anything I can do for you and yours, let me know. Please.

Take care.

Your friend,

Martin

 


	271. November 1st, 1965

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence From Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**November 1st, 1965**

Dear Tony,

I hope you don't mind me writing back this time instead of your Mum.

I've been a right arsehole to you and I'm sorry. Father's and sons have rows. That's the nature of things. I went for long, long stretches of time without speaking to my Dad and it hurt both of us far more and far deeper than I had ever intended. Letting this drag on as long as it has is inexcusable on my part.

I can't and won't let it go on.

There's a weird power structure to being a Dad, I've found. Especially when you're a Dad to kids who, may at times, have reasons to doubt where they fit into your life. Melody. You. Vickie. Even Vitus all share that. This whole father thing has never been a straight shot for me.

There's a point when your children, likely in an effort to shield themselves try and take that power back. You'll discover that when you have your own kids.

For the longest time, Melody called me Rory. Did you know that? She stopped long before you came round but it was true. She worried that it...she was something Amy and I hadn't truly signed up for, not like this, so she pulled back before we could. It was rough. We made a lot of mistakes early on, a lot. But eventually, individually, your Mum and I had to wrestle that away from her. We had to re-assert ourselves as her parents, as Mum and Dad.

I had to do the same with Vitus because there were all these moments he felt unsure.

It's not a crime to feel insecure or to need reassurance.

But I feel I've been terribly negligent when it comes to reassurance and you.

I love you, Anthony Brian Williams. You are my son. You have been my son since the first day I saw you. There are no caveats that come along with that. There are no addendums. No asterisks. God mend me if I have ever made you feel less than that. It is to my shame if that's the truth. If I've ever made you feel that way, please, please forgive me.

I haven't changed my mind. I still don't want you to go because there's a chance that I could lose you.

But not speaking to you ensures that I've lost you already.

I miss you, son. You've got leave before you have to head out once and for all right?

Come home for Christmas...in fact, we'll postpone it until you get here, alright?

I hope you can forgive your foolish, stupid, stubborn old Dad.

I love you.

Love, Me


End file.
